


Spoils of War

by grumblebee



Series: A king, A trophy, A lover [1]
Category: Turn - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage AU, Dubious consent in a dream, Emotional Manipulation, Hate to Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Trauma, Warring Kingdoms, body negativity, captive!Ben, general asshole behavior, touch starvation, tyrant! George, unspecified time period
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9549539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/pseuds/grumblebee
Summary: Prince Benjamin Tallmadge lived a peaceful life. Free of the pressure of inheriting the throne, he prepared himself for a life of religious servitude. But when his father scorns a neighboring King, Benjamin must give up his freedom and wed the tyrant King Washington to ensure peace between their two kingdoms. Alone in a new kingdom, far from his family, Ben contemplates if anyone could learn to love such a bitter, cruel man.





	1. Chapter 1

_ The wrong step would be not to start this Exodus.  _

The War of Blue Blood, as it would be named in time, came quickly to Ben’s kingdom. His father, King Benjamin Tallmadge I, was a peaceful man. He ruled with honor and integrity, raising his children to love and respect their place as sovereigns. Though King Tallmadge had five sons, only the first two (Samuel and Benjamin II) survived to adulthood. Queen Susannah, whose health had been in steady decline since the birth of her fifth child, passed when Ben was only 14.

With Samuel in line for the throne, Benjamin was free to follow his passions, and find his own niche in his Kingdom. He spent his time huddled in the library, studying religious texts with the intent of using them to better the lives of his people. It was a quiet life...a good life. 

Until the war came.

It started with a rumble, a rumor that grew throughout the kingdom that King Tallmadge had slighted a neighboring king, one who ruled beyond the mountains above their rolling valley. “King Tallmadge did not invite him to his Feast of Kings.” One lord whispered, his voice hush with fear. His gentlemen friend scoffed. “That is because he is an ungodly horror. The only beast willing to dine with him is Satan himself.”

Benjamin confronted his father, feeling rather left out of the world outside his little library. What he found was a world teetering in war. This King over the Mountains had not been invited to dine due to his uncouth behavior. He was a tyrant. A greedy man who thought of nothing but war, as his mother before him had done. King Tallmadge explained that their peaceful valley was no place for him, and had thrown away his letters demanding a seat at the table.

“How disrespectful to those who were invited it must be to sit in the presence of someone who demanded to be there.” King Tallmadge scoffed. Prince Samuel agreed. Benjamin, however, fretted. This King would not take kindly to being snubbed, and Benjamin made preparations for the day his father denied would come.

But it did. It always does. 

The first reports of unrest on the outer reaches of their kingdom came as a trickle. Scattered testimonies of farmers waking to find men clad in foreign uniform trekking through their fields. Of fires being set to stables in the dead of night. People going missing, and found dead upriver in another town. 

King Tallmadge dismissed the claims, proclaiming it to be peasant speculation. Gossip that turned to ghost stories, putting every crime under scrutiny until it looked like a grand plot from a rogue king. 

Ben watched as peasants were turned from the throne room, with nothing more than a little satchel of gold to quell their nerves.

“Samuel, I beg you.” Benjamin pleaded, “Make father reconsider. These cannot all be chance. Let us make amends with this King before he looks to strike.” 

Samuel smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Ben. “No harm will come to this kingdom, brother, I swear it. You will be clad in Tallmadge green and bronze until the day you die, or the day you surrender it for the brown robes of monkhood.” He jested. The humor was lost on Ben, but he smiled all the same. 

It was in the early light of dawn, only after a few weeks of peasant accounts, that the army descended from the mountains. From his bedroom window, far in the center of their lands, Ben could see them bear down like a swarm of locusts. Blue and gold fiends with swords at their hips. They took axes to the villages, salted and burned the fields as they made their way towards the Capital. 

Prince Samuel led the first charge, racing to spare their remaining crops and livestock from the army. By the time he reached the invading forces he was ten thousand men strong.  _ Ten thousand _ . Ben had to remind himself of that when the parcel arrived in his father’s throne room; a lacquered box with his brother’s head nestled neatly in the bloodstained satin. 

After that it was only a matter of time. It only took three days for the King to reach the Capital. One extra day to plunder and pillage the rich, imprison the advisors, and kill most of the guard. By nightfall of the fourth day, Ben found himself behind a curtain, trying desperately to control his ragged breathing, as the banging on the door of the throne room finally gave way, and the War of Blue Blood ceased.

* * *

The man who came into the throne room was a monster. Ben knew that much. He was a man who waged war over a social slight. Who murdered Prince Samuel, and who now walked into their home as if it were his own. But, who were they kidding, it  _ was _ his now. 

He was tall, with broad shoulders and strong features, and a dark heavy gaze that unnerved Ben, even as he hid behind the tapestry of the throne room. He lay one strong hand on the hilt of a sword, fiddling with it with absent minded amusement--or perhaps malicious intent. Ben counted ten guards who flanked him, out numbering the remaining knights who stood before King Tallmadge.

“King Tallmadge, what a lovely home.” He bellowed, admiring the hall. “I thought I'd never see it.” 

King Tallmadge scoffed, his lips twisted in anger. “You never  _ were.  _ This is a place of peace, not some playground for your war games.” 

The man paused, feigning disbelief. “ _ War games?  _ My good man, this isn't a war. Think of it as a little chance to catch up on dinner. You  _ do _ have something for us to eat, don't you?” He asked, looking around hopefully.

Benjamin watched as his father clenched his fists, jaw flexing against the urge to scream at this intruder. “ _ Hardly. _ You made sure of that when you destroyed our fields.” 

The man shook his head, clicking his tongue. “So  _ dramatic.  _ I burnt three, and no more than that. Yes they were  _ large _ but just to show you a little humility. You still have plenty to put on my plate, Tallmadge, and I expect you to before my appetite grows foul.” 

King Tallmadge sighed, nodding to a guard to fetch a cook. Ben watched nervously as the man approached the throne. “You haven't addressed me, good King Tallmadge. Do Kings neglect the titles of their equals? Shall I call you dear old Benji?” He mused, mocking King Tallmadge with a pitiful bow. 

“You are no  _ king.  _ You are a  _ murderer. _ A King is--”

“Someone who inherits a throne, Tallmadge. And that is what I've done.”

“What a  _ fine lineage  _ you come from then,  _ King Washington _ . A long line of warlords and murderous shrews.” He spat. Ben gasped, clamping his hand down over his mouth. Surely his father couldn't be  _ this _ bold. Not after this...after Samuel. 

Washington’s gaze darkened. “Yes, I suppose you're right.” He began, taking a step closer to King Tallmadge. “My name doesn't come from a honorable and righteous household. I don't have cathedrals my ancestors built, or tomes celebrating the eras of peace and tranquility my name brings my people. But you do.”

King Tallmadge squirmed in his throne as Washington approached him, almost nose to nose, Cheshire grin upon his face.

“What do you say we unite our two houses on holy terms?”

King Tallmadge scowled. “I say you're a mad man.”

Washington cupped King Tallmadge’s face in his hands, hushing him like a scolded child. “Now there old Benji, I’ve just forgiven you for forgetting my dinner invitation. I will not forgive you turning down my most  _ generous  _ and  _ heartfelt  _ proposal.” 

King Tallmadge wrenched himself from Washington’s grasp. “I've no kin to share with you.” He said, voice hoarse. “You've killed Prince Samuel. All my other sons have died naturally, as did my wife. So unless you plan to remove me from this throne, there is no hand for you to take.” 

Washington quirked an eyebrow, “No?” He asked, turning his head towards a royal portrait hanging on the wall. A large oil painting of Ben and Samuel alongside their father, dressed in their green and bronze family colors. “Who, might I ask, is this one?”

“Samuel.”

“No, I  _ know  _ Samuel’s face quite well. I put him in the box. I mean  _ this.  _ This other young man standing beside you. A nephew? A cousin perhaps? Or may I be so bold as to say...a son.” 

King Tallmadge steadied his gaze, looking wistfully at the painting. Ben could swear there were tears in his eyes. “That would be Benjamin. My son.” He whispered. Washington clapped his hands, a smile on his face.

“Then it's settled. Benjamin it shall be. Where is the boy?” 

“Dead.” Ben's heart stopped at the words. His father moved to wipe a tear from his eye. “My Benjamin is dead.” 

The smile fell from Washington’s face, his expression twisting into one of anger. “ _ Dead?” _ He reiterated, “And  _ how _ on Earth did that happen so...silently.” 

King Tallmadge held out his hand, retrieving a letter from a guard. “My son Benjamin was a religious scholar. He wished to join the monkhood in order to learn from their scriptures and better the ways of our people. Throwing a feast for his departure was against his better character. This letter arrived last week.”

Washington looked over the letter, scanning it with disbelief. “My son died in the monastery. It seems he cut himself badly whilst working, and died of an infection of the blood. We did not see it fit to announce his death and lower the people’s spirits, but then again...you arrived.” 

The letter was tossed aside, crushed beneath Washington’s boot. “Pity.” He sighed, turning towards the painting, “A pretty little thing like that wasted on a monastery.”    


“My son was not  _ wasted.  _ He died honorably, which is more than I can say about the way you live.” 

“ _ Prince Benjamin--”  _ Ben nearly jumped out of his skin, a hand resting on his shoulder. The taste of blood on his tongue was enough to be sure he hadn't made a sound. 

“ _ Anna.” _ He whispered, seeing the maid crouched behind the tapestry with him. Her brow glistened with sweat, hair plastered across it haphazardly.

“We must leave here, Prince Benjamin.” She whispered, beckoning him towards the servant’s door. “No time to lose.” Ben glanced back towards the scene behind the tapestry, Washington still close to his father, still fiddling with his sword.

“But father--”

“Has arranged for your escape. There is nothing more you can do here, and very little else if they catch a dead man behind their curtain.” Ben nodded, though he wished to see this play out. 

Anna took his hand, leading him through the unlit servants tunnels, up and around the castle until they opened the secret door to his chambers. Men were already there, clad in coarse brown robes. Ben recognized two as members of the guard, though they too wore the roughspun monk attire. 

“What is this?” 

Anna closed the door to the servants tunnel, tamping out the candle on the desk. “Your way out. King Tallmadge has arranged for you to flee to the monastery tonight. He will barter with Washington to dismiss his staff, and replace it with his own. With hoods up, and heads down in prayer they won't be able to recognize you.” She said, taking a robe from the disguised guard. 

Ben stripped, discarding the fine silks into a pile as his men quickly righted his room, putting away half open books and journals. They put his clothes away, took the ribbons from his hair and the jewels from his fingers swiftly and silently. Though his hands were no longer weighed down by gold, a heavy sadness settled on his shoulders. He had imagined his new life of servitude being a more jovial occasion. But considering the circumstances, Ben counted himself blessed that his father had arranged for him to live his life as he intended. It might be the last kind thing his father would ever do for him. 

The robe felt coarse, and scratchy as it was slipped over his head, it's frayed hem reaching past his ankles. Anna helped slide his feet into burlap slippers, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “You’ll have to learn to dress yourself from this day on.” She whispered, trying to lighten the mood. Ben chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“How will I manage?” He said, squeezing her. Tears rolled down her cheeks, eyes red and puffy. 

“Pray for us, Benjamin. Everyday you're away, until the time is right for you to return.” She said. Ben pulled her into a hug, not as her Prince but as her servant. 

“Anything, my child. I will return.” 

* * *

At midnight came the bells, a sign that a decree had been made. The head servant made rounds, opening each door to spread the news. Ben was in the chapel attached to the castle, head bowed in prayer.

“Brothers, King Tallmadge and King Washington have come to an agreement. The castle is being turned over to King Washington. All Tallmadge staff is dismissed. You are to return to the monastery.” He said, voice wavering. Ben bit his lip. That servant had spent his entire life within these walls, and now he was cast out, as well as his seven children. 

The monks moved towards the door, two by two, with heads bowed. Ben shuffled with them, singing their melodic hymn with his eyes cast down. The guard next to him mouthed the hymn, but no sound came out. Before leaving the chapel, Ben touched his face to be sure no tears had escaped his eyes. He was dry; just tired and unshaven, his face prickly against his hand. 

_ Grant us protection _

_ Grant us peace _

_ Allow us reflection  _

_ Patience and release  _

Washington’s guards sneered as the staff was dismissed from the castle, the long procession of servants winding like a river through the heart of their home. Cooks, chamber maids, waiters, decorators, florists, they walked somberly carrying only what they could. Ben felt his pulse quicken as he neared the mouth of the castle. 

“King Tallmadge is dismissing his monks.” One man laughed, catching sight of the procession. 

“You'd think a dead man would want some around for peace of mind.”

Ben flinched, only shortly, before steadying himself and returning to his hymn. These were not his men. This was not his family. He was a monk. His family are his brothers, his men the souls who look for solace in the church. 

He sighed a breath of relief as he passed through the castle gate, the cool night air brushing against his cheeks. His hands clenched the prayer beads tighter, containing his joy. Head down, voice out, and in a few short miles they’ll be in the woods, away from the eyes of invading soldiers. In two days time he’ll be in the mountains, safe in the monastery. This night will fall behind him, and he will put years between the memory of his brother’s head in a box, or his father crying upon their throne. 

“You there!”

Ben froze, unsure of whether to raise his head. “Tall monk on the left!” A soldier shouted, halting the line before they managed to cross the moat. “Lower your hood.”

Ben trembled. It wasn't him. It was the monk next to him...the guard who had not been singing. He did as he was told, lowering his hood as the soldier faced him. “Forget your lines, brother? Noticed you weren't singing. Seems like something you boys would know the words to.” He asked, a little smugly. 

The guard moved his lips, unsure of whether to respond...or how. But the silence dragged on and the soldiers grew impatient with the faux monk’s response. Rashly, Ben spoke out.

“Kind sir, Brother Arthur is a mute. He says nothing because he cannot. We all sing in his stead. His virtue is not tarnished by his lack of song.” He said, keeping his head bowed low. 

The soldier turned to Ben, a little annoyed. “And you then, Brother? Lower your hood.” He said. Ben cursed himself inwardly.  _ Why _ did he do that? Why did he waste his father’s last gift? The soldier spoke again. “Lower your hood, Brother. Now.”

Arthur swung, catching the soldier in the jaw. The remaining monks scattered, barely missing the two hidden guards as they drew daggers from their sleeves. “Run!” Arthur shouted, shoving Ben. 

The punched soldier scrambled to his feet. “This isn't a mute! Catch that monk!” He spat, pointing at Ben as he dashed for the end of the moat. The sound of gurgling arose, and out of the corner of his eye Ben could see one soldier collapse to the ground, neck slit. 

The attempt was futile, however. Washington’s men lined the moat, and descended on the monks. “Kill them all! Spare no one.” One soldier shouted. A hand caught the back of Ben’s robe, pulling him up like a pup by its scruff. 

“Except this one. What're you hiding, Brother?” 

Ben squirmed as they pulled his hood free of his face. “Recognize him?” One soldier asked. Another shrugged. “No. But let's bring him to Washington. Anyone this desperate to leave must be worth something.” 

Ben hissed as they twisted his arms behind his back, forcibly dragging him back through the palace gates. The remaining servants parted as they pulled him through, whispering and crying as he struggled against his captors. 

“Your Excellency.” One soldier said, opening the door to the throne room. “We have something for you. A monk who seemed rather anxious to leave.” 

Washington sat on the throne, King Tallmadge off to the side in the throne Queen Susannah once sat upon. The invader king took a long swig from his goblet, downing its contents.

“The monks have been dismissed peacefully. Why is this one anxious?” He asked. The soldier dragged Ben before the throne, bringing a candle close to his face.

“Not sure, Your Excellency. Does he look familiar?”

Ben watched as Washington’s eyes widened, and his father shrunk in his seat.

“ _Holy, holy, holy_.” Washington said, standing from his seat. “King Tallmadge, we seem to have a miracle here.” He said, walking up to Ben.

“Now I’m not religious, but I do remember some of the key players from my confirmation. Only  _ one _ man managed to come back from the dead like this, yes?” He asked, examining Ben. Ben swallowed hard, unsure whether to avert his eyes towards the floor or stare this monster in the face.

“Very well groomed for a monk. State your name, Brother.” He said, coy smile across his lips. Ben fell silent, jaw clenched in anger.

“It's ok Benjamin, I know you. Though you’ll have to pardon my surprise, your dear father told me you were  _ dead. _ And yet here you are, fresh and pink and very much  _ alive.” _ He growled. Ben stared him down, refusing to tremble before him. Washington sighed, turning towards his father.

“King Tallmadge, you  _ wound  _ me. Is my name, my alliance, so disgusting to you that you would rather exile your own son than call me family?” He asked. King Tallmadge remained silent, looking mournfully at Benjamin. 

“You're no more honorable than I am, King Tallmadge. Only I do not tolerate treachery. I have been gracious and  _ patient  _ with you. Spent hours sorting out the affairs of this pitiful kingdom of yours. Only, you've been holding out on me. Now how does that make  _ me _ look? Soft. Foolish. I cannot have that.” He said, voice a low growl.

“Guards, bring King Tallmadge to his knees.” Washington commanded, drawing his sword. “I'm through negotiating with this man. Prepare another box for his head.”

“WAIT!”

Washington turned, looking Ben up and down.

“I...I accept.” Ben said, his voice breaking. “I accept your proposal.” 

Washington laughed, scraping his sword against the stone floor. “My dear boy, I haven't offered you anything.” He took a step closer, the sword dragging loudly across the floor. 

Ben cleared his throat. “Yes, you  _ have. _ The original offer to my father. A marriage of truce into the Tallmadge family.” 

“That marriage deal fell off the table when a certain Prince Benjamin was declared deceased.” Washington teased. “All I see before me is a monk, unless you've got some fine silks on under that tarp.” He said, using the tip of his sword to lift up the hem of Ben’s robe, revealing bare skin to the knee. 

“I guess not.” He chuckled, letting the material fall back into place. Ben’s face flushed red, but he willed himself to continue. 

“I am alive, and I beg of you to take me as your husband. Do no harm to this kingdom or my father, and I will stand by your side.” Ben begged. 

Washington moved close glaring down at Ben. “You’ll need to do much more than stand by my side, dear boy. How badly do you want me to accept?” 

Ben swallowed his pride, sinking to his knees. He took the hand that held the sword, kissing each knuckle tenderly, feeling them flex around the hilt of the weapon menacingly. When he was done he gazed up at Washington, eyes wide and pleading.

“I will be your husband. Bear  _ your _ name and colors alone. I am to do with as you please, and I will allow it.” He groveled, voice ragged. “And above all else, you will be my king.” 

Washington raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That  _ is _ an appealing offer. A nice trophy to bring back to my castle.” He said, his free hand cupping Ben’s face. “I'm certain once we clean you up you’ll be the crown jewel of my collection. A lovely gem, all buffed and polished.” 

Ben leaned into his touch, though it churned his stomach. “If that is what you wish, my king.” He whispered. 

Washington turned towards King Tallmadge. “Was that so hard?” He asked. King Tallmadge wiped at his cheeks pitifully, tears rolling freely. Washington sighed, sheathing his sword.

“Get yourself together, man. Your own son isn't weeping. Your own damn pride is making this harder than it needs to be. Young Benjamin will be the envy of every member of my court. He shall want for nothing.” He said, one hand yanking Ben to his feet. “And neither shall I. Not when I've won such a handsome prize.” 

Ben smoothed out his robes, desperately trying to squash the barrage of images of what this monster had planned for him. 

“Well it's settled. Benjamin will be my husband, I will assume control of this sad little kingdom, and  _ you  _ will dry those tears. Thanks to young Benjamin you’ll be spending the rest of your days cozy in your bed, instead of... well...the basket I use.” Washington said, sitting back on the throne.

“Guards, bring King Tallmadge to his room. Make sure he's comfortable. And take my betrothed to his, as well, to pack. We leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Wait---” Ben blurted, watching as his father was dragged towards the door. “Can't I say goodbye? Just a minute, please?” 

Washington took up his goblet, newly refilled with rich red wine. “I'm afraid your father said his goodbyes when he gave me that little eulogy. You should have heard it, it was moving. I’ll fill you in later. As a wedding gift, perhaps.” 

“Benjamin! I love you, son!”

“Will you quiet him? He’ll only rile up my temper.” Washington growled. Ben choked back a silent sob as his father was gagged, and pulled from the throne room kicking and screaming. He wanted to call after him. Return his love and weep for him. But not here...not before his new husband. Not where his loyalties could be questioned. 

“What a good boy you are, Benjamin. You see the reason in this. A peaceful, fruitful pact, and a holy bond that will tie my family’s line to yours. Nothing worth these... _ theatrics.”  _ Washington said, sipping from his goblet. 

Ben struggled to find his voice, gazing up at his future. His promised husband, atop a stolen throne, and soon a new home far from the safe stone walls of his castle. Years, decades even, of matrimony. A voice left his lips, though he couldn't be sure it was his.

“Yes, my king.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep was fleeting that night, barely visiting Ben as he lay in his childhood bed one last time. He had been instructed to sleep, by servants who barely knew his name. The curtain around his four post bed had been drawn, shielding him from the leering eyes of Washington’s attendants as they picked through his belongings. 

“King Washington insists you sleep.” One said, catching Ben as he peeked from behind the drapes to see what they were up to. “Your things will be packed and ready when you wake.” 

The room was a disaster. Silks and velvet tossed all over the stone floor, parchment strewn over his desk and ink wells spilled--their dark stains hastily blotted with linens the attendants found less attractive. Ben felt his stomach churn at the sight of one man flipping through his journals, perusing through his private thoughts as though it were a leisure read. 

The curtain was drawn close again forcibly, shutting him into the darkness as the soldiers continued to ransack his room. Rolling onto his stomach, Ben hugged his pillow, tears stinging his eyes. This really would be the last time. The last night he would lay his head down and counted the stars embroidered onto his canopy. Smell the perfume on the sheets. Clutch the small stuffed rabbit his mother had sewn for him as a baby. 

Ben whimpered into the pillow, fingers digging into the toy.  _ Mom _ . The last night she kissed Ben goodnight, and how she insisted on walking to his room to do so. How the next morning felt cold and wrong, and the news arrived that his mother had not made the night. If Ben squeezed his eyes shut, he could still feel the warm press of her lips against his forehead. Just one of many things he'd be committing to memory. A kiss, a bed, a whole childhood worth of joys; ones Washington’s men couldn't use to sop up their spills. 

* * *

Daylight had barely begun to break when the curtains of Ben’s bed were thrown open. Startled awake, Ben yelped as a pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Come on now, sire. Let's get you ready for the carriage.” The soldier said gruffly, practically yanking Ben to his feet. An attendant quickly swooped in, steadying Ben before he had the chance to stumble.

“You great brute! You can't grab him like that! Not unless you'd like to wear your hands around your neck.” He spat, smoothing out Ben’s nightshirt. “Nothing must happen to him.  _ Nothing. _ Or it’ll be our heads.” 

Ben grimaced, the look of fear on the attendant’s face enough to drive off the heavy  warmth of sleep. “Now  _ go _ , get out of here. Last thing I need is King Washington summoning me, asking why all his men were in the room as his husband undressed. Go on, now.” 

The soldiers huffed, some sniggering as they left the room. The door slammed shut, leaving Ben with the frazzled attendant. He straightened himself out, bowing his head with respect.

“I  _ apologize  _ for those men, your highness. If you’ll allow me, it would be my honor to prepare you for your carriage.” 

Ben nodded, allowing the man to get to work. He was stripped of his nightshirt, left to stand shivering in the cold dark room as the attendant unfolded a crisp new shirt, his garments already laid out on a chair.Fine travel clothes, though not very flashy. Brown and tan, with polished fastens and lace trim. 

“Might we stoke the fire?” Ben asked, his teeth chattering as his attendant took a painfully long time slipping the thin garment over his head. 

“I'm afraid not, sire. Your carriage is waiting downstairs. King Washington has already left on horseback, leading the men out of the city. We must not dawdle.” 

Washington out of the castle already? And after such a fuss he made. Still, without his looming presence, Ben thought it wise to ask something of his attendant. “May I see my father in his quarters? One last time before I go?”

The attendant stiffened, fear still upon his gaunt face. “I am afraid not, your highness. King Washington has forbade staff from allowing such things. I'm afraid if he were to--”

“Say no more. I apologize.” Ben said, not wanting to hear the awful things his new husband would do to the poor man who indulged him. 

Ben sighed, taking a look around his room as daylight crept over it. His wardrobe had been gutted, only a few undesirable waistcoats and shirts left on their hooks. His library lay in ruins, only a handful of books still on their shelves, the rest left on the floor, spines creased and twisted under the constant tread of footsteps throughout the night. Upon glancing at his table, his jewelry box was missing, either packed and ready for him in the carriage, or dumped unceremoniously into some pile of spoils King Washington had accrued. 

The attendant finished buttoning him up, slipping the soft brown jacket over his shoulders. “You look marvelous, sire. A fine husband to be.” Ben merely hummed at the comment, stepping back towards the bed. The covers had grown cold, and Ben plucked the little sewn rabbit out of the sheets, holding it tight against his chest.

“Will his highness be taking this with him?” The attendant asked. Ben paused, thumbs stroking the soft little toy, briefly seeing the long summer days he would play pretend with his mother. 

“No...I won't be taking it. Send this to my father’s room, please. It means a great deal to him.” He said, handing the toy to the attendant. The man took it gently, wrapping it in a piece of linen. Ben felt a little smile tug at his lips. It looked like a tiny corpse, wrapped for the funeral pyre. How fitting.

With little left to say, the attendant lead Ben from his room. With hurried steps they walked down the hall, descending the great marble staircase that lead to the grand foyer. The castle already showed signs of occupation. Gilded vases, statues and tapestries had been stripped down, leaving only bare stone walls. Paintings of Tallmadge kings, their long line of peaceful sovereigns, now stood defaced.

Eyes scratched out, oil painted throats slit so that the canvas draped gruesomely out of its frame. Marble busts of Kings and Queens smashed to bits against the stone floor. Ben grimaced at the beheaded statue of Samuel that stood at the mouth of the grand foyer, its jagged stone neck splashed with stolen wine, leaving a horrible taste in his mouth. 

So this was Washington’s peaceful occupation. Ben lowered his gaze to the floor, unable to bear anymore visions of horror as his family line was erased from his own home. Still, the attendant could not lead him out quick enough, and Ben watched as his slippers soaked with the wine that pooled at the feet of his brother’s likeness, leaving squelching red footprints as he left the foyer. 

The carriage was waiting outside, its driver absentmindedly fiddling with the reigns to a black horse. The attendant coughed, catching his attention so that he might stand and bow to Ben.

“His royal highness Benjamin Tallmadge, future husband to King Washington.” The attendant announced, receiving a collection of short, polite responses. 

Ben stepped into the carriage, its seats made of plush blue velvet. In fact, everything in the carriage was Washington’s blue and gold. From deep royal blues, to light sky blue, the interior of his carriage was painted with the monochrome glories of his future husband. Battles and feasts hand painted finely, all gilded with gold leaf. Ben felt out of place in his brown and tan suit, sitting amongst the rich colors of his new family. 

The attendant climbed in after him, as well as a guard. Ben squirmed uneasily, settling into a corner of the carriage. “Is this necessary?” He asked, motioning to the guard. The attendant nodded.

“We are not to leave King Washington's young husband unsupervised. The road can be dangerous, and he would hate if something were to happen to you on the journey.” 

Ben huffed, turning to look out the window. _King_ _Washington_ fearing for his honor? The man was probably afraid that Ben would slit his wrists in the carriage, leaving only a messy corpse to marry. He's being put on watch. “ _Nothing must happen to him.”_ Including himself.

With a crack of his whip, the driver started the carriage, pulling away from Ben’s home. Straining his neck for one last look, Ben glanced towards the large open window of his father’s bedroom. He was there, flanked by two guards, able to watch silently as his last son was carted away towards some monstrous union. Ben felt his heart sink as the carriage turned, and his father disappeared from sight. 

* * *

The road remained one of the most grueling and tiresome things Ben had ever endured. Rivaling even the long trip to his mother’s former kingdom, this somber procession of troops wore Ben’s patience thin. Unlike other long trips, he did not feel compelled to play cards or drink. In fact, he had lost his taste for wine completely, drinking only small sips of water or brandy when offered.

He also battled his severe lack of appetite, and the problems it caused. Meals were scheduled thrice daily, handed to him on a small tray as the caravan took a rest. Unlike the attendants and soldiers, Ben was given the same food from Washington's table. It was rich and decadent, turning the eye of anyone who smelled it. Ben found it revolting. 

Nonetheless, he was not in a position to refuse it. Should he turn down the meal, his loss of appetite could be seen as a form of protest. Something complacent little husband's did not do. Leave too much on the plate, Washington might suspect that King Tallmadge had gifted him a sickly son. Clean it entirely and risk Washington’s temper flaring over his greedy appetite. 

Ben handed all his meals back with a few bites left, dabbing his napkin over his lips as he refused to eat another bite. It was always followed with a poorly timed nap, where Ben would try to dispel the churning of his stomach with sleep, only to be roused with a hot new plate of misery to force down. 

Between sleeping and eating, his close quarter companions provided little comfort. The attendant spoke frequently, though Ben began to notice a trend of him speaking up as their caravan reached a particularly war ravaged part of the kingdom, in some vain attempt to distract Ben. 

On their second day of travel, Ben could smell the scorched fields begin to roll near, the once waving waves of grain now a flat desolate patch of ash. The attendant had begun to speak rapidly, trying to engage Ben as their carriage wound through the burnt fields.

“Word on the trail is that King Washington has sent ahead for your arrival. Of course, King Washington’s triumphant return from any battle prompts a glorious feast, but once the court hears that he will be wed, a most joyous party shall be thrown. Erm, do you dance, Prince Tallmadge?”

Ben hummed. The attendant wrung his hands in his lap. “Of course you do, how silly of me to ask. Forgiveness, sire. Do you have a favorite dance? One we might inform your future husband of? He would like you to dance with him as soon as possible.”

Ben spied a hill of freshly turned soil. It sat like a swollen mound, lazily heaped onto some hidden secret. It was large, and uneven, and smelled of death. The sour smell lingered in the cabin of the carriage, stinging his nose.

“I do not.” Ben clipped, keeping his eyes trained on the hill. “My brother was the dancer.” 

The attendant grew quiet, too nervous to continue his conversation until the hill had rolled out of view. “King Washington will be excited to dance with you, nonetheless.”

“Yes, I suppose he will.” 

* * *

On the fifth day, Ben was roused by his attendant just shortly past noon. Ben grimaced, expecting some hot plate or stale shriveled snack to be forced upon him, but the man was empty handed.

“Prince Tallmadge, were approaching your new home. Would you care to take a look?” He asked hopefully. Ben groaned. Though he didn't wish to look out at his new kingdom, he also couldn't bear to wring this attendant out with his foul mood. He parted the curtains to the window, gazing upon the new landscape that flitted by.

Mountains, tall and jagged, behind their caravan. It occurred to Ben that he had never been on this side of the mountains, and where his side was lush and green--with tall pines that crawled high up the slopes, Washington’s side was vastly different.

The stone was a dark slate blue, towering over the valley like a row of teeth in the jaws of some beast. 

Ben felt cold just looking at it, and wrapped the thin throw blanket around his shoulders tighter.

Ahead of them was the gradual slope down towards the heart of the kingdom, with patchwork farms and thin rivers surrounding the dense capital city. 

“I expect us to be at the castle gates within a few hours.” The attendant said, his tone more chipper than usual. Ben figured the man was relieved to see his home, and to be relieved of his babysitting duties. His thoughts were pushed aside as the attendant pulled out a small satchel of bread and cheese.

“I'm afraid we won't be stopping for meals until you're within the castle, Prince Tallmadge. Will this suffice?” Ben thanked him quietly, begrudgingly taking a crust of bread and some cheese. At least he could stomach this. 

As the caravan neared the capital, more people started to line the road. Farmers and bakers, peasants and their children, all waving and cheering as the horses thundered by. They banged pots and pans, shouting praise at the men returning home. News of Ben’s arrival had already reached the kingdom, and men and women craned their necks to catch a glimpse of him as his carriage rolled by. 

“They are curious to see the man who has captured King Washington’s interest. It's not often he's willing to barter peace for companionship, and marriage is so treasured a union.”

Ben felt his lips pinch into a frown, and he let the curtains fall close. “I'd rather not be a spectacle.” He murmured, closing his eyes to shut out the cheering outside the carriage. The attendant rushed to smooth over the slight.

“Not a spectacle, no! Prince Tallmadge, they look to you with hope and excitement. Our kingdom grows under your union. That is something marvelous. They only wish to see the man who represents our sister kingdom over the mountains.” 

“They wish to see the trophy Washington will mount on his wall.” Ben clipped. The attendant fell silent, one that lasted for the duration of their ride, leaving only the growing sound of applause that thundered around the carriage. 

By the time they reached the castle gates dusk had arrived, and Ben could see the torches being lit. In the dying light of day his new home loomed like a great stone prison, complete with gargoyles that flanked the gates. Their mouths were agape, proudly showing off the bright yellow flame of the torches lit within them. Ben shifted nervously in his seat.

The carriage slowed, and Ben could hear the driver climb down from his perch. A new attendant opened the door to the carriage, politely nodding to Ben. 

“Prince Tallmadge, I am here to collect you. We welcome you to our home, and hope that you will soon call it yours.” He said, bowing as Ben stepped out of the carriage. It was the first time in five days that he was able to stretch his legs, and he felt weak as he started towards the castle gates. 

The attendant spoke again. “Just for reference, sire, I am the head servant of this castle. You may call me Townsend. If there is anything your highness desires, I shall make it so.” He said, leading Ben through the large oak doors.

Inside was a grand foyer, twice the size of the one back home. It was carved of creamy white marble, topped with a cascade of blue velvet carpet that tumbled down the foyer steps like a waterfall. The chandeliers had been lit, sending glittering light over the walls, dancing with the flicker of the candles.

“King Washington displays his colors proudly, and soon they shall be yours as well.” Townsend said, starting up the steps. “But, for now, his majesty must resign to a separate chamber. Until your wedding, we can't have King Washington tempted by your beauty.” He meant it to be lighthearted, but Townsend’s deadpan tone, and Ben’s already churning gut, made it sound slimey and depraved. 

He was led to a spacious bedroom, with a small balcony that overlooked the mountains. His things were already set out on the floor, the porters having stacked them neatly in the corner. “We can draw you a bath, wash off the trip. Dinner is in an hour. King Washington has requested your audience.”

Ben sighed, sitting on the bed. “Then let’s get started. I'd like to unwind before meeting my betrothed.” He said, eyes trained on the floor. Townsend bowed, leaving briefly to call in some chamber maids.

“His highness Prince Tallmadge requires a hot bath. Be sure to have him ready before supper.”

“Yes, sir.” 

The washroom was spacious, and the chamber maids lit the braziers, heating the room as they filled the tub. Ben watched lazily from his bed, feeling numb.  _ Look how they skitter _ . The maids looked a frightful mess, with deep dark circles beneath their eyes and thin shaking hands. They worked quickly, eager to show Ben how promptly they took to their task.  _ That monster has them scurrying like rats. _

Two of the maids approached him, the light scent of perfumed oil on their hands. “It's our honor, sire.” They said, taking him by the hand. He was stripped of his travel clothes, and as they discarded them Ben could feel the layer of sweat and grime on his skin. The days of travel through war torn territory, the air thick with ash, combined with that hanging scent of death that coated every surface in a thin oily film that made Ben shudder. It all sat upon his skin, thick and sticky, and he'd like nothing more than to have it wicked away. 

Ben sank into the tub, groaning as his aching joints adjusted to the temperature. His servants got to work, passing the washcloth over him until the grease was wiped clean. They each took a limb, pumicing his feet and trimming his nails as he unwound in the tub. For a few blissful minutes, Ben closed his eyes, letting the servant massage his scalp clean. His hair was rinsed, his hands and feet rubbed with warm oils until he was pulled from the tub, scrubbed pink as a peony, and wrapped in large towels. 

“We’ve laid out your evening attire, Prince Tallmadge.” One maid said, toweling his hair until it hung damp against his brow. Ben eyed the suit they had chosen. It was one of his finer ones, made of shiny new silk. Ben admired the rich green jacket, and the decorative bronze buttons trailing down the breast. He might as well enjoy it, for soon he would have to give up his family colors--as the servants were so keen on reminding him. 

He sat still as they pinned up his hair, brushing it until it shone like spun gold before meticulously setting it in place. There was lots of hushed whispers about his face as he sat before the mirror, the maids uncertain as to whether they should apply makeup.

“It's customary.” One remarked, poised with rouge in hand. Another swatted her away.

“He doesn't need it. Besides if King Washington has issues with his features he’ll let us know.” Ben scowled, tearing at his nail with annoyance. It's very flattering to know that his visage can be custom tailored to fit his new husband’s needs. 

Once his hair was to their liking, Ben was slipped into his suit, fussed over until he was buttoned up so tight that he felt he might faint. This would be the first time Washington saw him as he was; a prince, a Tallmadge one at that. Gilded in green and bronze, head held high. He was not some vagrant in a burlap sack Washington could push around. He was royalty, and he expected to be treated as such by his betrothed. 

Townsend reappeared, whisking Ben out the door and down towards the dining hall. It was hard to ignore the looks he got from staff as he was marched past, with curious eyes and tongues wagging behind raised hands. He was a spectacle here too, and Ben had no doubt these same people would be all too happy to press their ear to the door of his bed chamber on his wedding night. 

“King Washington has already begun his meal, but he is eager to see you. Go right in.” Townsend said, opening the door. Ben swallowed thickly, pausing a moment to steady his breaths, and entered.

A small feast had been prepared, and Ben could see platters piled high with food. Sweetened yams and  braised carrots and turnips sat prettily between heaping plates of meat. Ben wrinkled his nose at the suckling pig being picked apart as he headed towards his seat. 

Washington looked up from his plate, knife poised in hand as he worked through a hunk of pork. “My my, don't we clean up pretty.” He said, sitting back in his seat to better eye Ben as he made his way into his chair.

“I only wish to impress you, my King.” Ben said, unfolding his napkin into his lap. Washington smirked, returning to his plate.

“That you  _ have. _ Though I do miss the monk garb. Less thrilling knowing I can't lift up your robe for a quick peek.” He laughed, spearing a yam with his fork. Ben winced, but helped himself to some potatoes. 

“Thank you for the meal, my King. It looks marvelous.” He said, trying to deflect Washington’s crass line of discussion. “And the carriage was just as splendid.” 

Washington smiled, not looking up from his plate. “Now, Benjamin, I find it hard to believe you haven't been in a fine carriage before. You mean to flatter me.” He said. Ben watched as he shoveled more food onto his plate. “It's such a lovely quality, too. One your father seemed to...lack.” 

Ben picked at his plate, the lamb platter closest to him serving as an adequate distraction. “My father is old, and set in his ways. He is most grateful that you have spared our kingdom, even if he does not show it.” 

There was a delighted hum from across the long table, Washington drinking deeply from his cup. “Well our deal was amicable. I don't see the appeal in destroying things that known their place.” He said with a smirk. Ben watched as his betrothed took a moment, taking in his attire.

“Speaking of which...that outfit is unacceptable.”

Ben faltered, looking down to examine his attire. Everything was neat and tidy, the suit was new and in fashion, he didn't see the offense. “Beg your pardon, my king?” 

“Your outfit, your  _ colors.  _ They aren't  _ mine. _ ” He said, waving his fork at the offending palette. “It will have to go.”

Ben frowned, setting down his knife and fork. “It was my understanding that I would take your colors upon marriage, of that we are not. Until then, it's customary to wear one’s own house colors out of respect.” 

Washington paused from his meal, eyes dark. “ _ Respect.  _ Oh dear…” 

Ben felt shivers run down his spine, and the distinct sensation of being cornered as Washington rose from his seat. “Allow me to inform you of the terms of my generosity, as presented by you not five days ago.” He said, striding across the room. Ben pressed his back against the seat, knuckles white with terror.

“I will be your husband. Bear  _ your _ name and colors alone. I am to do with as you please, and I will allow it.” He mocked, throwing Ben’s pleading bargain across the table, until he was face to face with Ben.

“Now then, what part of that implies you were allowed to wear your father’s colors?”

Ben steadied his breathing, refusing to cower in his seat. He set his jaw and stared down his betrothed, and spoke clearly. “Is  _ husband _ a loose enough term?” 

Washington scoffed, a little amused with Ben’s quip. “That won't be an issue, Benjamin. Not one bit. We’ll be married by week’s end. Although, I still dislike the colors, so I'm going to need to ask you to change.” 

Ben shifted in his seat. “That hardly seems necessary. We're halfway through our meal. It will grow cold.” 

“Take it off.” Washington growled, fingers already gripping at the bronze buttons of his jacket. “Or shall I write home and see that your father has a less comfortable stay.” 

Ben pursed his lips, caught in his bluff. He silently unbuttoned his jacket, slipping it off. Ben averted his eyes from Washington’s stare as he did so, aware of how intently the man glared at his shirt. “I apologize, my king. You are correct. These colors do not suite me, not here in your care.” 

He turned to drape the jacket over the chair, only to have it snatched from his fingers. “How right you are, young Benjamin.” Washington said, rubbing his thumb over the silk of the jacket. “These colors have no place here.” He said. Ben watched as he crossed back to his seat, stopping only briefly to toss the garment into the fireplace.

Ben tensed, watching the fabric char and curl in the flames, the rich green turning black and brittle. Washington sat at his seat nonchalantly, resuming his meal, the smell of burning silk filling the air. 

“Now then, Benjamin, is the lamb alright?”

“Perfect, my king.”

* * *

Dinner ended unceremoniously, with Washington tossing his napkin down onto his cleared plate as he rose. 

“You have been delightful company tonight, Benjamin. I look forward to these meals with you. I'm sure you’ll find that I can be a good and gracious husband. The grounds are yours, as are the servants, to do with as you wish. You are free to study and lounge about. Though I think you'd be better off finding a new hobby, eh? This is a marriage, not a monastery.” 

Ben pushed his seat back, a waiter taking his plate from him. “Yes, my king. Understood.” He said, rising from his chair. Washington waved his hand, signaling Ben to stop.

“Just...one last thing before you retire, darling Benjamin. Who dressed you this evening?” He asked. Ben could feel his skin crawl, and the faces of his poor chamber maids flash through his mind. 

“Pardon?”

“ _ Who _ , out of my staff, set out your colors. Dressed you in them and sent you down here.” Washington said, his voice sharp and deadly. Ben could see the staff shift nervously on their toes.

“I know not, my King.”

Washington raised an eyebrow. “No? Not a name, not a face? Surely they had a body, with hands and eyes, that did the deed.” 

Ben stood tall, hands clasped behind his back. “My apologies, my King. The journey has been long, and your staff is strange and new to me. I cannot pick out the offender.” 

Washington’s lips pressed into a pinched scowl, his point lost. Surely he could not reprimand his future husband for not recognizing the staff a mere three hours after his arrival. Most royals do not even spare their help a passing glance. He took his wine from the table, striding towards the doorway.

“See to it that it doesn't happen again, or else I may need to  _ clean house. _ ” He clipped, disappearing into the dark hallway. Ben let out a sigh of relief, heading to the opposite doorway where Townsend waited nervously.

“That's enough for one night. King Washington will see you at breakfast.” He said, guiding Ben back towards his wing of the castle. Ben turned, sparing a last glance at the table as it was cleared. The servants worked quickly, whispering excitedly in hushed tones as they pulled the platters from the wood table.

“That he will. Thank you, Townsend, for your service.” 

Townsend stopped at the top of the stairs, at a loss for words. “It's my pleasure to serve you. And, might I say, an honor to see you crowned King.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Wedding preparations began at once. With their nuptials at week’s end, King Washington had set plans into motion before Ben’s eyes opened on his first morning in his new home. 

The day started with a frantic awakening, wispy servants pulling back the curtains of his bed, letting the sun hit him across the eyes as they shook him awake. “There is much to do today, Prince Tallmadge.” one maid said, helping Ben to his feet. Drowsy, the room came to him in bits and pieces. The cold polished stone beneath his feet. The warmth of a fire being stoked across the room. Jasmine and rose oils rising from a bath with the steam. His nightshirt taken off him as he was escorted to the tub. 

Despite his body’s desire to succumb to the heat of the bath and sleep, Washington’s servants were ever vigilant. They shook him at the slightest flutter of his eyes, used strong smelling salts to jolt him awake, until finally the beginnings of a headache could be felt throbbing behind his eyes--but he was awake. 

Townsend came as Ben was being dressed for breakfast. He knocked twice, stopping to inspect the dark navy suit Ben was being button into. After last night’s tantrum, Ben hardly blamed him for taking a closer look. Once the ensemble had passed some silent test, Townsend spoke. 

“King Washington has matters to attend to and cannot sit with you for breakfast. Would his highness prefer to dine downstairs or have his meal brought up?” Ben breathed a sigh of relief, thankful he did not have to string up a smile not thirty minutes after rising. He only had a week of this luxury left, and he planned on making it last

“Here, please.” He responded. He was a little surprised when Townsend turned on his heel, leaving without asking for his order, but figured that Washington had left some great heaping feast in his wake, and that the servants would pick out his share before the rest was chucked or fed to the dogs.

Instead he busied he mind by opening one of the trunks the porters had brought up. The trunks seemed to only take up a small corner of the room, their green and bronze ribbons removed, leaving stripes of sticky, dusty adhesive to line the case. “May we help you find something, Prince Tallmadge?” Another maid asked. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her wring her hands nervously.

“No. These are my things, I just want to see which books were packed.” He said, rifling through the trunk. There were some silks, shoes, gloves. All clothes. The next trunk was more of the same. As was the next, save for only four books at the bottom. Common fairy tales, a bible, and two hastily grabbed books on the subject of gardens. Ben turned back to the maid. “This is it? Out of my whole library?”

The maid cowered (a learned trait, no doubt). “I beg your forgiveness, Prince Tallmadge. Our library here is quite extensive. I'm sure they brought those merely to add to our collection.” 

Ben sighed. It wasn't an apology. More like some crafted response that had been drilled into her. Ben suspected he'd find that response with all the staff here, resigning to read one of the gardening books as a table was set up on the balcony. Ben settled into his chair, the warm summer morning not yet reaching his place high on the tower. From where he sat he could see the sun drench the hills and fields surrounding their castle, each lighting up like a rosy hold patchwork quilt.

It would have been idyllic, if not for the jagged slate grey mountains in the distance. They rose up like the jaws of a great beast; a silent reminder that Ben was in the gaping maw of some dragon, observing the treasures it swallowed. Ben figured he was one of these treasures too. 

He was about five pages into the planting and nurturing of hydrangeas when Townsend returned to the chambers. Ben could hear him talk to the other maids as they stripped his bed, curtly instructing them to do it quickly, and not dawdle. Townsend then stepped out onto the balcony, a small tray in his hands. Breakfast. He set it down on the table before Ben, lifting the silver lid. 

A single grapefruit half, an egg, and a link of sausage. It hardly looked a meal fit for a snack, let alone his breakfast. Ben looked on in cynical surprise as a whole pot of tea was placed before him. At least his husband was  _ somewhat _ generous. Townsend cleared his throat, catching onto Ben’s expression.

“My... _ apologies _ , Prince Tallmadge. King Washington has strict meal arrangements for you until your wedding. To look your best.” Ben picked at his nails, redirecting his rage at his cuticles.

“And will King Washington be as  _ emaciated  _ as I when we say our vows? Or will we simply have the guards hoist him up to the altar by whatever twine was still attached to the ham he swallowed.”

The words practically stung as they left him, and Ben felt another pang of guilt as Townsend shifted nervously on his feet. Ben swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “I apologize, Townsend. This... _ this... _ I must take up with my betrothed. Not you.” 

Townsend bowed, and Ben could see a fraction of the tension melt from him. “You needn’t apologize, Prince Tallmadge. This breakfast is indeed small for a man such as yourself. But I fear that you will not be able to take it up with your future husband. King Washington has important matters to attend to these next few days, and has left the castle. He will not see you again until you are at the altar.” 

Ben sighed, and poured some tea. “Then I shall enjoy these few days of quiet, and hope it makes the heart grow fonder.” Townsend let out a small chuckle, and Ben returned a smile knowingly. 

He picked at his breakfast slowly, as if to spite Washington’s intentions for a quickly and unfulfilling meal. The grapefruit was picked clean, and the egg scraped off the plate until it looked as though nothing had ever been on it. He sipped his tea, half heartedly thumbing through his book, tracing the illustrations of flowers with his finger.

But Townsend returned, this time holding another small teapot in his hands. Ben looked up, placing his book aside. “I'm sorry, Townsend. I haven't finished my first pot.” He said, a little guilty as the ceramic teapot was placed before him. 

Townsend looked over his shoulder, as if to check if the chambers were clear. “This is a special blend, Prince Tallmadge. One I'm quite fond of.  _ Hearty.” _ Ben raised an eyebrow, and lifted the lid on the tea pot, gazing on the mushy thick contents within.  _ Porridge.  _ Sweetened with syrup and folded around berries and nuts.Something thick that would stay on his stomach and cease his rumbling. Ben smiled, pulling the pot closer to smell his meal. Townsend placed a slender spoon beside him.

“This week I have made sure that your majesty receives  _ two _ pots of tea with his breakfast.” 

“Thank you, Townsend.” 

With hot porridge in his stomach, Ben was whisked away to the comically long list of wedding preparations Washington had compiled. For a man who seemed to take up his proposal on a whim, an awful lot of thought was poured into their unfortunate union. 

There were the flowers, where Ben was allowed to pick his arrangements so long as they were true blue and gold. He sat as florists paraded an endless array of blossoms, blathering about color and aroma, trying their best to prompt some excitement from him. They instructed him to pinch the velvety petals, or stick his nose into a blossom, or worse yet--take a few flowers and look at them in the mirror, to imagine how lovely they’d look on the big day. In the end, Ben politely pointed to some blue hydrangeas, yellow peonies, and gold sunflowers.

The next ordeal was a suit fitting. Normally, both parties wore their house colors to the ceremony, but Washington had denied that right. Instead Ben was to wear white; a houseless color. Something young and fresh to be stained by whatever colors touched it first. Ben stood patiently as the castle tailors held bolts of silk up to his face. Creams, ivories, snows, eggshell, every shade of white was meticulously compared to compliment his complexion. They settled on a lovely cream colored silk, snipping off a bit of fabric and a sketch of the design to pass onto Ben’s other tormentors: hair and makeup. 

This too took forever. Delicate, ornate hair pinning. His face constantly painted, wiped, scrubbed, and redone. By the time Ben trudged off to bed he could still feel the phantom touch of rouge being worked across his cheeks, and the rough dissatisfied swipe of a washcloth soon after. 

Each day after was equally awful. People with painfully chipper smiles doing their best to coax one out of him. A bolt of silk that began to look more and more like a wedding suit. Bites of food on a plate that soon became a menu, written on cream colored parchment. A collection of silver bands held on a key ring, slipped over his finger until one clamped tight. More hair and makeup. More flowers. More tea served in secret teapots. 

“And here you’ll see where you and King Washington will be seated. The table is to be adorned, and you’ll spend most of the eveni---” 

“Where shall my father sit?” 

The planner looked up, a little confused. “Pardon, your highness?” Ben looked down at the seating plan sadly.

“My...father. Where will he sit?” The fact that he even had to ask was answer enough. Washington did not plan to let Ben have anything this day. He could pick his flowers, but not his loyalties. His father would mostly likely receive a detailed letter of the affair--along with the depraved things Washington planned to do to celebrate his wedding night. 

The planner mumbled through his apology, Ben only half listening as he worked to keep the tears from his eyes. He would be the only Tallmadge there. Perhaps the only one in the world soon. And even then, it wouldn't be him. He would be a Washington. 

* * *

The day before the wedding was the worst of all. Washington had returned to the castle, bringing with him a tense chaotic aura to the place. Staff scurried a little faster. People cowered a little longer. Ben wondered if the kingdom favored war so much because it kept their tyrant out of their home for a short, blissful while. 

Washington stayed true to his word, too busy to see Ben until their wedding, though knowing he was home made Ben’s stomach flip. It was a reminder that this wedding was happening. The week’s work of preparations fully hit him. Tomorrow, he would be Washington's. The triumphant king had come home to bed his prize. 

Another thing, it seemed, Washington had fit into his list of preparations.

Entering his temporary chambers that evening, Ben found two men in his room. They sat on his bed, clad in sheer robes, whispering to each other softly.

“What is this?” Ben asked, startled to find anyone in his chambers. Especially castle staff than did not stand and wait for him. One of the boys pulled off his companion, and bowed his head.

“Pardon our intrusion, Prince Tallmadge.” Ben caught the slightest hint of a foreign accent from him as he approached the bed.

“Intrusion is right. I have not sent for you--”

“Yes but your  _ betrothed _ has.” The man replied. He wasn't sly or malicious, but Ben felt uneasy. “I am Lafayette. My companion here is Laurens. King Washington has sent us to deal with certain  _ festivities.” _

Ben’s gut clenched, and he made his way to a chair across the room. “ _ Is that so.” _ He croaked, falling into the chair. Lafayette nodded, eying Ben from the bed.

“King Washington has informed us that you are untouched. This is just a formality. A little way to know what you know.” He said, hand moving to undo his robe. “We won't touch you, but watching would be preferable. Laurens and I are some of his majesty's favorite boys. We know what he likes from his partners.” 

Ben sat uneasily, wanting to shoot back with some remark. Something about laying back and letting Washington work for once in his life. But he feared that hassling these poor boys would only bring misfortune on them-- and their livelihood depended on how favorable they were to Washington. 

Lafayette started slow, kissing down Laurens, pushing him to the bed. Ben did his best not to project, not to think about tomorrow night when it would be him pressed into the mattress. Him with his legs spread, and toyed with by someone who wasn't as gentle as Lafayette. The sight didn't even excite him. It made him sick. He felt covered in cold sweat, his chest aching as the watched a few of the acts Lafayette deemed Washington’s favorites.

As it ended, he kept his gaze to the floor, ignoring Laurens’ growing cries, Lafayette's moans. All of it. He studied the floor and tried not to vomit. 

“Dearest Prince!” Lafayette cried, and Ben could hear footsteps. “You look a mess. Pale as death. Do come to bed. Come here and let us have a look at you.” 

Ben was pulled from his chair, guided on weak legs to the bed, where Laurens and Lafayette flanked him. They put their arms around him, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “He will not hurt you.” Laurens said. Ben twisted the hem of his jacket, utterly embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

“This is strange and new. You are going to be fine. Washington will be a good husband and lover to you.” Lafayette soothed. Ben felt tears, but refused to let them well in his eyes just yet.

“I’d like to be left alone now, if you please. Send Townsend for a new change of sheets. Thank you for your service.” Ben said. He did not move, or make any other remark until the two left, leaving him alone as Townsend changed the sheets. 

“Are you not well, sir? I can bring up some tea. Or a glass of wine.” Townsend said, looking over Ben’s blanched expression. Ben merely sighed, shrugging out of his jacket.

“No. I must rise early tomorrow and face my husband.” He said somberly. Townsend sighed, bowing his head.

“Then I shall leave you to rest. If you change your mind, call and we’ll bring something up. Pleasant dreams, Prince Tallmadge.” He paused before using Ben’s title, and Ben felt the bile rise in his throat.  _ Tallmadge. _

“I shall, Townsend. No good dreams come from the name Washington.” 

* * *

The bells had begun ringing at dawn, a rude awakening for not only Ben but the entire kingdom. The curtains were drawn back, hands on Ben as he was pulled from the bed and tossed to the awaiting tub. The same routine with the added pressure of a wedding looming just above the staff.

Ben watched as two servants bickered over one nail being clipped shorter than the rest, while another almost fainted when they learned that oil of ylang ylang had  _ not  _ be added to the bath water. The wispy servant frantically dripped some from a small vial into the hot bath, swirling it about so that the soft scent of ylang ylang mixed with jasmine and rose. “For sensuality and luck in your union.” He said. Ben grimaced. 

Ben blushed through a majority of his bath, the servants taking razors to him until he was smooth, cooing over how lovely he would be. How excited he should be. Ben merely counted the stone tiles on the floor beyond his tub. 

His hair was set in pin and plaited, jasmine flowers tucked into his locks with small diamond pins. They glittered in the sunlight, catching each bob of Ben’s head as he watched himself rouged and readied in the mirror. A little darkening of his lashes, soft petal powder on his cheeks, and a dab of some wet sticky beeswax on the center of his lip, where it was worked out until his lips shone soft and glistening. 

The suit tailored was magnificent. It skimmed his figure more beautifully than anything he had ever worn before. The cream of the silk, paired with the subtle pink in his cheeks, likened him to a soft peony. Full and beautiful. Ben faltered, a little stunned by this transformation. He looked like a doll, tiny and fragile. He didn't quite feel like himself. But he was beautiful. And that's what Washington wanted.

More jasmine and ylang ylang was spritzed over him, the servants smoothing out every fine detail, adjusting the gold buttons so that the flowers engraved on them faced up. Townsend entered, carrying a small box.

“You look breathtaking, sir.” How Ben wished that meant Washington would drop dead. Townsend approached, opening the little box. Inside were a few tiny blossoms from a hydrangea, wrapped in ribbon to a pin. Townsend fastened it over Ben’s heart. 

“We must head to the church.” 

Ben walked to his carriage silently, listening to the sounds of crowds cheering beyond the castle gates. This was a day of festivities, with thousands pouring into the city to catch a glimpse of King Washington and his new husband. Stepping out of the castle he was greeted with applause, a sea of people just beyond the gates. They waved flags of blue and gold, and threw petals through the slats of the gates as guards pushed them back. The curtains on his carriage were open, so that those lining the road could see Ben as he rode by. 

A groom. A spectacle. 

According to Townsend, the church was filled and awaiting his arrival. Ben had asked if Townsend planned to join him in the carriage, only to receive a small sad smile. “I must remain here and ensure the grand hall is ready when your guests return. I wish you the happiest union, Prince Tallmadge.” Ben thought about the feast that would await him at home as his carriage arrived at the church. 

It was a grand cathedral, organ music pouring out of the open windows. Inside a chorus could be heard, and Ben closed his eyes. Take away the suit, the flowers, the tyrant…and this was just a church. This was just an oath. One he had planned to make all his life. It's duties were different. It's stakes were higher. But it was an oath. This marriage would make a martyr of him yet. 

The carriage pulled behind the cathedral, away from view where Ben could enter without being seen by guests. The servants gave him another one over in the mirror, and Ben waited patiently as they flittered back and forth. He kept his ears trained on the chorus, their muffled hymns drifting through the church, prompting his lips to follow silently. 

“Do you sing, Prince Tallmadge?” One servant girl asked, catching him as he mouthed the hymn. Ben shook his head.

“Not as fine as those people.” 

The girl smiled, fixing the jasmine in his hair before a knock came at the door. “We’re ready for him.” A voice said. The girl bowed her head, helping Ben up from his chair. 

“You will make a wonderful king. May your reign be just and true.” Ben took a deep breath, thanking her as he was led from the room to the mouth of the church, the chorus growing louder with every passing step.

Ben had seen many weddings. Lord and ladies of his high court, cousins long gone, foreign leaders who owed debts to the Tallmadge name. Their brides walked side by side with their house figure. A father, an uncle, a mother. Ben stood alone. He waited for his cue, for the chorus to stop and his march to begin. For those first chords of his new life to fill the air and draw him from the shadows of the church. 

The last notes of the chorus dissolved into the air, leaving a breathless silence that hung for an eternity, and then the thunderous start of the organ. The singing began again, though Ben could no longer piece what hymn they sang as his feet moved forward on the long walk down the aisle. Lords and ladies turned, craning their necks to catch sight of Ben as he walked by. His heart pounded, hundreds of eyes picking him apart as he passed.

Still, Ben held his head high, catching sight of Washington as the altar approached. He wore a royal blue suit, fitted with gold trim and buttons, hair queued neatly. He followed Ben with his eyes, admiring his handiwork up and down as he neared.  _ He must be pleased with himself  _ Ben thought, stepping up the carpeted stairs to where Washington stood. Indeed he was, for even as the priest started his ceremony, Washington’s gaze lingered, drinking in every detail. 

“King Washington, will you make your promise to Prince Benjamin?” Ben had to hold himself back from scoffing.  _ Tallmadge  _ just say  _ Tallmadge.  _ Ben resisted the urge to flinch as Washington took his hands, thumbs stroking over his inner wrists, triumphant smile on his lips.

“I, King George Washington, do pledge my undying protection. I shall care for and keep you for all my days, until death takes me. This is my oath and my legacy.” 

A ring was slipped over Ben’s finger, cold and unforgivingly tight as his hands shook. The priest nodded, and Ben took the matching band, carefully turning Washington’s broad hand over in his palm to slip it on before reciting his vow. 

“I, Benjamin Tallmadge, do pledge my undying loyalty and adoration. I shall care for and keep you for all my days, until death takes you. This is my oath and my legacy.” 

Washington looked pleased, pausing to squeeze Ben’s hand in his before moving onto the next part of their ceremony. He presented Ben with his first protection, the colors of his kingdom, by draping a blue and gold sash over the cream suit. Ben bowed his head as the silk was slipped over him, weighing down on his shoulders like a stone slab. 

The second protection, a crown. Less ornate than the one Washington wore, but regal nonetheless. It was gold, twisted into a simple crown, adorned with small sapphires and opals at it tips. Washington placed it upon Ben’s head, careful not to disturb the diamond pins and flowers already embedded there. 

“In sight of God and King, let it be known that here stands King Benjamin Washington. Long may he reign.” 

_ Long may he reign _ echoed throughout the cathedral. The priest smiled, urging Ben closer to Washington. “And long may he be wed in this most joyous union.” Ben’s breath hitched as Washington’s hand moved to the small of his back, pulling him forward into a kiss. The first landed squarely on his lips, his stiff surprised posture earning a few amused chuckles from the guests. 

“Benjamin...” Washington whispered, leaning forward again to kiss at Ben’s jaw, just below the ear “... _ Washington.”  _

Ben felt faint. He wanted to crumple to the ground and blackout, unable to breathe. The crown was too heavy and his sash was too tight. The ring now sat on what must be a dead finger, for he no longer felt it. He only vaguely recalled being taken by the arm, showered in petals as he and Washington marched from the church and piled into an awaiting carriage.

“You look divine, Benjamin.” Washington said, wrapping an arm around his middle. “The perfect little trophy.”

* * *

“Kings George and Benjamin Washington!”

The great hall thundered with applause at their arrival, food already waiting to be brought out by weary servants as Washington and Ben found their seats at the long banquet table in front of the hall. The guests seated there were especially close to Washington. Generals he had fought with. Lords he had dined with. A fine assortment of men he did not wish to know better. That did not stop him, however, from accepting their well wishes and marital advice as dinner progressed.

The food, Ben was certain, was sublime-- though he could hardly taste a thing. Every bite tasted of nothing, distinguishable only by texture. He could easily say he liked crunchy nothing over soupy nothing, as crunchy allowed him more time to chew, and not contribute to the small talk at the table. Today’s fine topic was how rich in silver ore Ben’s homeland was; a subject he would rather not add to. 

Between courses there was dancing, and Washington rose to his feet to lead his new husband to the dance floor. The sour expression on Ben’s face did little to deter him, and Washington set about dancing as though Ben were having the time of his life. 

As the night dragged on, Ben became more distressed. The guests had crossed the threshold from tipsy to drunk, stumbling and laughing about as the sun finally slipped below the horizon. The meals were dwindling, and soon this raucous company would leave, and his night of marital duties would begin. It was hard to resist the urge to drink his nerves away, especially as Washington pressed another glass into his hand.

“I mustn't, my King. I'd be terribly ashamed if I embarrassed you.” He said, rejecting the wine offered. Washington set the glass down to pull Ben into his lap, his cheeks pink with tipsy splendor. He pressed his lips to Ben’s ear, one hand traveling up Ben’s leg teasingly.

“My, my. Is my new husband a lightweight?” He asked, rubbing Ben’s thigh. Ben nodded, embarrassed by the way the other guests looked at him as Washington fondled him in his lap.

“Y-yes, my king.” 

Washington snapped his fingers, summoning a waiter. “King Benjamin’s wine for tonight will come cut down. Just a little wine, fill the rest with juice or water. Make it light for someone who can't drink well.” He demanded, waving the servant off. He returned his attention to Ben, planting a tipsy kiss on his neck. “See? Problem solved. No one will know you can't hold your drink.” 

“Thank you, my king.” 

Ben sipped his new drink slowly from his awkward perch in Washington's lap. His new husband sang and boasted about new plans, new wars on the horizon. Ben only focused on the watered down taste of wine, watching as the last of the carriages pulled up to take drunk guests home.

A servant approached, breaking Washington from a story. “My apologies, sire.” Ben looked up, seeing Townsend at the foot of the table. “King Benjamin must ready for bed. Will you be remaining here until he is ready?”

Washington nodded, letting Ben slide from his lap as his friends whistled and oooh’d at the mention of bedding. “I’ll be ready within the hour for young Benjamin. Just one last drink with the boys.” 

“Forget the drink, mate, go get your husband--”

“Enough of you.” 

Ben hurried from the hall, brought up to a separate wing than the one he had been residing in. Washington’s private chambers. The place took up a majority of the west side of the castle, and Ben marveled at the space as he was led deeper inside. A private library, an office, long winding balcony that stretched around the west side, overlooking the mountains. It was all very grand, and too large for one person. 

Townsend escorted Ben into a large bathhouse, a deep tub set into the floor, already filled with steaming water. The servants had lit candles, and strewn petals and oils into the bath. Ben got a whiff of something soft and floral. Ah yes, the ylang ylang again. As if to coax him into a more sensual mood. Ben was undressed, and helped into the tub as his hair was unpinned and brushed out. Ben took it upon himself to wash his face off, scrubbing until he felt raw. 

“When you're ready, King Washington is in his chambers.” Townsend said, pointing at a door on the far left. “Right through there.” 

Ben's heart jumped into his throat, and he politely dismissed the servants so he could collect himself. The water had started to cool, making Ben more anxious by the second. He tried to think back to Lafayette's instruction, and remember some detail of the acts they performed on one another, yet his mind drew a blank. Getting out of the tub, Ben dried off and slipped on a loose silk dressing gown. There was no need for him to get all dressed up again. The sooner this happened the better.

He stood before the door, steadying his breath as his heart raced in his chest. “Ok...ok.” He muttered to himself, turning the knob to enter his new bedroom.

Washington lay on the bed, his nakedness hidden by a tangle of bedsheets around his waist. He finished some wine that had been carried up from the feast, setting the empty glass down on the table as Ben approached the foot of the bed.

Without being prompted, Ben took a deep breath, undoing the knot holding his robe closed. It fell open in a deep V over his chest, and slipped to the floor with a small shrug of his shoulders, leaving him bare before Washington. Washington smiled, drinking him in a long moment before speaking.

“And what might this be for, dear Benjamin?”

Ben faltered. “My...duties, dear husband.” Washington took another few moments to look him over.

“You're not ready. Not tonight.” He said, patting the bed. “Come to bed.” Ben was taken aback, confused by this turn of events. Had he not been visited by those chamber boys for this reason? Had he not been fondled all night in preparation for this moment? 

“My king, if we do not  _ consummate _ our union--”

“ _ Nothing  _ will happen. This marriage is an unusual one, Benjamin. It will bear no children. It holds no contract between father and husband. Your father cannot reclaim you for lack of consummation because your father has no claim to his  _ kingdom.  _ When I take my things, I take them willingly.” 

Ben fell silent, regretting his choice to drop his robe and throw his modesty down with it. He moved to cover himself. “My apologies, my king.” He blushed. Washington hummed in disapproval as Ben bent to pick up the robe.

“I never said  _ redress. _ Surely you'd be more comfortable as you are to sleep. Come, lay down.” He patted the bed again and this time Ben obeyed, shyly passing the bedpost to climb into bed with his husband. He felt his eyes on him, lustful despite the claim that he would not be touched tonight. Once beneath the sheets, with his head against the pillow, Washington drew near. He pulled him close by the middle, taking one hand to trace the delicate features of Ben’s face. 

“Was it everything you wanted, dearest?” Washington asked, studying Ben’s face. “A beautiful wedding to start your new life?” Ben swallowed thickly, ignoring the press of Washington's cock on his hip, or the smug way he bit his lip as Ben searched for words. 

“Yes, my king. It was a dream come true.” 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The sun rose...regrettably. Ben watched as the inky black sky was tinged blue, slowly making way for pinks and yellows as the kingdom started to rise from its slumber. From his spot on the bed, Ben could count the clouds that rolled by the open window to their chambers, their bellies rosy and full as they swallowed up the last of the night.

And so rose other things, as Ben grimaced at the press of his new husband against his rear, arm slung around his middle lazily. He'd been breathing down his neck all night after slipping into a deep, wine induced sleep no sooner than the candles were tamped down. Ben tried his best to put some distance between himself and the offending body, rolling out to lean against the weight of Washington's arm.

A groan escaped the man, his grip tightening as Ben was pulled back into a sleepy hold. Washington held tight for a few minutes, cock hard against Ben, until the sunlight crept over his side of the bed, slanting over his eyes. Ben could hear Washington's breath hitch, taking that first sharp inhale of awareness. He readied himself for what he was certain was going to be a pleasurable morning for his husband.

“Good morning, Benjamin.” Washington croaked. He buried his head into the crook of Ben’s neck, and Ben could feel the scrape of his stubble against his skin. “I haven't slept that soundly in a long time. Something about home and a warm body just puts me at ease.” He shifted, rolling Benjamin onto his back before moving closer.

“Did my little husband sleep well?”

Ben nodded, his voice abandoning him a moment as the hours of terror filled silence flashed before his eyes. “Yes, my king.” He whispered. Washington hummed, fingers toying with the sheets tangled around Ben’s waist. Ben cleared his throat, hoping to draw attention away from this.

“I...I had not thought of how wonderful it is to share a bed with another. I slept well.”

This, apparently, did not discourage Washington’s amorous thoughts. He tugged at the sheets, inching them down slowly so that Ben could watch on in bashful horror as he was exposed. “There are _other_ wonderful things to be done in bed with another. Things you have yet to try.” Washington looked him over with a critical eye. “ _Beautiful._ And in daylight, too.”

Despite his better judgement, Ben moved to cover himself, hands shielding his cock from further viewing. Washington smiled, pressing his lips close to Ben’s ear. “And shy. Can't say I find that surprising. Though I hoped you gained some courage when you dropped your clothes last night.” Ben’s cheeks burned, his heart thudding in his chest.

“I apologize, my king. I am not used to such attention.”

Washington pulled the sheets back up, tucking them in around Ben at the chest. “No matter. I've seen it all.” He rose from the bed, ringing a little bell that sat on the bedside table. Two servants entered the chambers.

“Ready me, and send in someone to tend to King Benjamin. Handle him gently, he's a little shy.”

Ben lay twisted in the sheets as Washington was dressed, far too aware of how many eyes were in the room. He watched as Washington was buttoned into his suit, hair pulled back and tied off, more men knocking at the door to brief him on the day’s duties.

“Your Excellency, more news from King Tallmadge--”

“ _Not now._ ” Washington clipped, glancing at Ben out of the corner of his eye. “Can't you see my husband is _uncomfortable?”_ The man stared down at his feet, only now realizing Ben was in the room. “I suggest you _apologize_ for barging in here.” Washington said.

The man bowed, keeping his eyes to the floor. “My _apologies_ , King Benjamin. I meant no disrespect.”

Washington huffed, smoothing his jacket as he walked towards the door. “I’d hope so. My husband need not be reminded that there _are_ no such things as _Tallmadge kings._ ”

* * *

At the end of breakfast, Washington delivered his first task to Ben. It was thrown out casually over eggs, no more important than requesting second helpings.

“You’ll be accompanying me in the throne room today, Benjamin. I am in need of your expertise.” Washington said, spearing a link of sausage. “Nothing too challenging. Repurposing officials of your court.”

 _Repurposing_. Like scrap iron or lumber. Ben forced himself to swallow the omelette he was working on. “Of course, my king.” He said, honeying his tone. Let him believe that this was fine. That the slight was not noticed. Washington smiled, returning to his plate.

“Excellent. Wear the blue suit.” He said, scooping another helping onto his plate.

The blue suit was, in essence, one of many garments cut from the measurements taken for their wedding. Ben had discovered this as he was escorted back upstairs for a proper dressing. Something less flimsy than the soft blue dressing gown he had been wrapped in for breakfast, forced to eat half dressed as Washington looked on in fond appreciation.

Inside his wardrobe was a neat row of fine new suits, all varying in shades of blue, piped, embroidered, or trimmed with gold decals. Ben sucked in a breath, thumbing through the suits with care, taking each one into mind as he prepared himself to be seen before his new court. Washington needed his _expertise,_ though Ben highly doubted that. He wanted a pretty face. Someone to nod and smile as he made his decrees.

In the end, Ben selected a pale blue suit, embroidered with delicate gold flowers. He watched as the servants buttoned him up, polishing up the opal buttons so they glimmered in the mirror. The last piece was his crown, placed with care upon his head. It was a cumbersome thing, and Ben had to keep his head perfectly steady to keep it from tilting.

“Fasten it a little tighter.” One of the servants instructed, threading pins into his hair. “Sew it into the curls if need be.” Ben grimaced as they secured the crown down with ornate pins so tightly that if someone were to snatch it, he'd be scalped. By the end his scalp stung, poked with countless pins that pulled and tugged at his hair painfully.

“You look beautiful, King Benjamin.”

Ben let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

The sentiment was repeated a few more times as Ben made his way to the throne room, servants pausing to bow and pay respects to their new king. It wasn't their fault, Ben had to remind himself, as yet another staff member commented on how handsome he looked in blue. It was Washington's. He had told the world about the beautiful doll he had found, and everyone was inclined to agree.

Ben waited as he was fussed over, hair tucked back into place only seconds before they threw open the doors to the throne room. The room was cavernous, it's floors made of the same milky white marble as the grand hall. It's tall marble pillars extended to the ceiling, where it's smooth white texture clashed against the rough, slate gray stone. In the light of day, Ben could make shadowy shapes looming just above the tall windows, just out of reach of sunlight. Some ornate sculptures. Demons, angels, birds of prey. They glared down at the members of court below, scrutinizing them in Washington's stead.

At the head of the room sat Washington, clad in dark blue, piled lazily on his throne like a petulant child. Whatever matters were being discussed, he wasn't interested in. But as Ben entered the throne room his eyes lit up, and he straightened in his seat. He actively looked past the speaker, prattling on about farm lands and new aqueducts, to follow Ben with his eyes as he walked up the long aisle towards the throne.

Ben kept his eyes forward, fixed on the throne that had been placed next to Washington’s. It was smaller, less embellished than Washington's, but gilded in gold leaf and studded with pearls. He sat down as the speaker wrapped up his argument, aware that he had lost Washington's attention.

“Your majesty?”

Washington snapped back around, annoyance across his face. “Yes, yes. Submit your plans within the month for approval. We will have another meeting once I've seen them reviewed.” He said, dismissing the man with a wave of his hand. Ben sat quietly, hands in his lap as Washington nodded to one of the squires. The man was short and tubby, waddling to the center of the floor to unroll a parchment.

“The Kings Washington and Benjamin will now rule on the repurposing of the former Tallmadge court.”

Ben shifted awkwardly, that word _repurpose_ brought back into the light. “Bring out the first member.”

Ben felt his blood run cold. So this wasn't just a hearing. Ben would be seen before his new _and_ former court, his former lords spread far and wide to tell the tale of how the last Tallmadge son sat upon a throne next to a murderer, clad in his colors and reeking of defeat. The first lord, now prisoner, was brought out. He looked travel worn, and his clothes were badly wrinkled.

“And who might you be?” Washington asked, as if questioning a child. The man cleared his throat.

“Richard Woodhull, your excellency.”

Washington glanced at Ben, as if it were his job to inform him of what Woodhull did. Ben chimed in. “Lord Woodhull is our highest magistrate. He's served my father for forty years.” Ben said. Washington tapped his ring on the side of his throne.

“I already have a high magistrate. Two would be a waste of funds. Lord Woodhull will be stationed at the outpost south of the mountains.”

Woodhull blanched, and for good reason. South of the mountains was a treacherous terrain. Landslides and heavy rains during the wet season, wildfires and lightning storms during the dry. Many young able bodied men met their demise on those slopes, so many that only reckless leaders sent men to stake claim to its borders. Men like Washington. Ben cleared his throat.

“My king, can Lord Woodhull not serve some purpose here in the capital? He is well versed in the laws of many kingdoms, a man of peace, and is in his golden years. He is no longer spry enough to scale the south mountain trails.”

Woodhull kept his gaze on Ben, hopeful that he could save him from what would be a slow, inevitable death on the mountain. Washington sighed.”Well that may be, but I have an outpost of soldiers in need of a magistrate to handle internal affairs--”

“ _Please.”_ Woodhull pleaded. Ben clenched his fist in his lap, terrified for what bargain this magistrate thought he could strike. He had _interrupted_ Washington. Something not even Ben had thought to do. Washington straightened on his throne, eyes dark. Woodhull swallowed nervously.

“ _Forty years_ I have served the law. I have seen wars and peace and delegated through both. That does not change with the exchange of kings. Please, give me the chance to dedicate the rest of my life to the law, here in the capital. Close to my son and grandson.”

Washington’s lips curled. “Son, you say? Name. Age.” He barked at Ben. Ben shuddered.

“Abraham Woodhull, aged twenty three years. He follows in the steps of Lord Woodhull, a man of the law.” He said, watching Woodhull with contempt. _You just had to mention them. Doom them as well._ Washington mulled this over.

“Lord Woodhull, it seems your _son_ is of the right mind and body to fill this position. I will make it known that he is to be shipped out by next week.” Woodhull’s face twisted into one of disgust.

“You _can't_ do that! It's a death sentence! He's a father to a young boy--an _infant._ Lady Mary won't be able to care for her son alone--”

Washington held up a hand, silencing Woodhull from his rant. “As for young…” he looked to Ben for the child’s name.

“Thomas.”

“Thomas. If Abraham does indeed die at his post, the boy will be taken to the military academy. His father will be his commander, and as many young men in this kingdom have learned, there are other ways to forge strong men than to raise them alongside their father.”

Ben reached out, touching Washington on the arm as if to coax him with his touch. “ _My king,_ Abraham...he is not his father. He has barely tried cases outside of his school master’s classroom. This position may be too advanced for him.” He said, sweetening his tone as he rubbed Washington’s arm through his jacket. A small smiled tugged at Washington's lips, and he squeezed Ben’s hand tightly.

“My husband, you have much to learn about _ruling._ Men are not like prayers, too many cause more trouble than good. The outpost does not require advanced law. It is simple military law, cut and dry, to keep the men from eating one another out of my sight. Young Abraham will fit right in.” He said, raising Ben’s hand to his lips, kissing along the knuckle. Ben felt his stomach churn, but bowed his head with feigned adoration. Washington returned his attention to Woodhull, who was looking onto the scene in abstract horror.

“Now then, Lord Woodhull, it seems we’ve come to a decision. Your son Abraham will begin next week.” He said, tone a little lighter than it had been moments ago. Woodhull fidgeted nervously.

“And me, your excellency?”

Washington smirked. “There is only _one_ magistrate position open. Thank you for helping me narrow the decision.” He turned to the guards. “You can take Lord Woodhull to the gallows.”

“Your majesty, _please--”_

“And bring him quietly.”

Ben’s hand shot out once more, grasping the silk of Washington's uniform tightly. His knuckles were pale and white against the dark blue, twisting it desperately. “That was _not_ our deal.” Ben croaked, “We married under the condition of a peaceful transfer. To save lives.”

Washington grabbed Ben’s wrist, prying him off his coat with little effort. Ben twisted his hand, expecting Washington to wretch it and wound him, but instead he kept it steady, held in an iron grip.

“But I _have,_ Benjamin. This kingdom has seen three expansions in the last half century. Three expansions, and only _one_ court. Our marriage has allowed my court to grow, and saved lives. Today, only Lord Woodhull dies. Had it not been for you, there would be three more corpses on the cart. Peaceful transfer, just as you asked.”

Ben shook his head, trying his hardest to return his arm to his side. “It is _death--_ ”

“It is trimming the fat. Now, if you'd prefer, I could send Lord Woodhull to the outpost. Like you've said, his prosperous years are behind him, but he will work hard. That leaves _three_ Woodhulls out of a job, and out of my favor. A father, a wife, and an infant. So which will it be? A haggard old man and three little nooses? Or a magistrate, a lady, and a soldier?”

Ben took a shaky breath, glancing down at Woodhull from the throne. The old man had accepted his fate, no longer struggling against the irons being clapped around his wrists. “It's _ok_ , King Benjamin. You do what you must for our home.” He whispered. Ben clenched his jaw, turning away from both Woodhull and Washington.

“Bring him to the gallows. May you find peace, Lord Woodhull.”

“Bless you, King Benjamin.”

Ben closed his eyes as Lord Woodhull was led from the throne room, iron chains jangling with every step. They scraped the floor, their weight too heavy for the old man’s wrists, causing Washington's court to cover their ears and scowl. A crack and a cry let Ben know that Lord Woodhull was caned for his slow pace. The sound of shuffling sped up, until Ben could no longer hear him or the sound of chains.

“Bring out the next member.”

And so it would repeat, face after face, life after life. A handful saved in the wake of a loved one’s life; women and children cowering in the shadow of a hangman for cover. _This_ was the peace he sold his soul for. Fear and humiliation. _Trimming the fat_ , with Washington ignoring the ever crushing weight of his court, knocking the support beams of a kingdom out from under him. Soon the whole thing would teeter, tip and crumble under its massive weight. And Ben would go with it. Just another poor thing Washington would drag on his long fall down.

At the end of it all, Ben had watched seventy three members of his court repurposed. Fifty seven now lived perilously, their new roles a preface for an untimely death. The remaining sixteen were sent to the gallows, to be hung at first light, merely for the show of it.

Washington had adjourned his session, rising from the throne to talk Townsend into planning some new feast. Ben sat numbly on his throne, rising when the servants took him by the arms. His feet felt apart from his body as he ascended the stairs, touching each velvet draped step like a phantom limb. Voices melded together, greetings slurred and warped until Ben could no longer distinguish who was paying him compliment and who was asking his advice. All he could do was float into his chambers and wait for the doors to click shut behind him.

And then he tore the crown from his head, and screamed.

* * *

Down here it was cool, somewhat new and askew from the world Ben had known only minutes ago. Or was it seconds ago? He hardly remembered anything past the tantrum, feeling his own hair torn from his scalp as he frantically tried to discard his crown. He must have blacked out, because the first glimpse into this new world was done so from the floor--the stone cold against his cheek as commotion broke out around him.

“ _King Benjamin!”_ But there were no Tallmadge kings here.

“ _There’s blood, sir! From the head!”_ Yes, there had been blood when he unboxed Samuel, and almost all from the head, too.

“ _Which of you sewed the damn thing to his head? King Washington will flay us all if he’s damaged.”_  Ben felt his eyes roll back into his head, world growing dark again, cold again, if only for another few minutes. Or hours. If he was fortunate, maybe even days.

But consciousness was cruel, and it returned to him sooner than he'd expected. The room faded back into view, the ceiling swirling every so slightly before him. He was laid out on the bed, body aching from the fall, and there was a sharp stinging at the top of his head. Just above him, Townsend came into view.

“King Benjamin, can you hear me?” His face looked wrought with worry, brow slightly clammy with sweat as he gazed down at Ben. Ben nodded, and tried to get up. “No, no, your majesty. You've had a fainting spell, and I'm afraid you've hurt your head.”

Ben moved his lips, his mouth impossibly dry. “ _Crown.”_ He croaked. The room tilted again. “ _Too tight.”_ Townsend let out a shaky breath, taking a small mirror into his hands. He held it pressed against his chest, as if to shield Ben from view just yet.

“Your majesty, there's been some error here today. It seems one of our servants threaded the crown into your hair, as one would hem a stocking. I assure you, it looks worse than it is. Once we’ve washed you up you will not notice it.” He said, still clutching the mirror. “I ask that if you must punish someone, punish me. It was my lack of supervision that led to this unfortunate accident.”

Ben felt the bike rise in his throat. “ _Show me.”_ Townsend turned the mirror around, angling it down so Ben could see the damage that had been done.

He took in a hiss of shock. _Ruined._ There was blood, it clumped and caked his hair on one side, sticking to his left side where he had fell. It's track marks smudged over his brow, clear fingerprints visible from where frantic staff cleared the hair to find the wound.  The wound itself wasn't very large; a small patch of skin just above and behind his ear, settled right where the brim of his crown would be. There were two small black stitches sealing it shut. The surrounding area was a mess of blood and frazzled hair, torn and tangled from his fit. Moving slightly Ben could see he had snapped hair on the other side as well, though it only looked slightly mussed.

“ _Oh my god.”_ Ben croaked, his voice cracking horribly. “ _He’s going to kill my dad.”_ Townsend set the mirror down hastily.

“No, your majesty. I assure you he won't. Though I suggest we tidy you up before he sees this. I can arrange for him to miss dinner so you can clean up.” He helped Ben up, calling some servants over to bring him to the tub. “Clean King Benjamin and dress him for bed. Have a meal taken to him once he's through.”They bowed and scurried about to do their tasks, undressing Ben and easing him into the tub.

This bath was more painful than usual, the servants taking extreme care to wash his tender scalp with caution. They added salts to the bath to relieve his aching muscles, but as they scrubbed Ben could see the faded mottled pattern of bruises forming along his left side. A swipe of a washcloth over his cheek drew forth a painful sting, and Ben could feel where his cheek was scuffed by the stone floor.

Among those doting on him was one rather frazzled chamber maid. She avoided eye contact, her hands so unsteady that she dropped the washcloth into the bathwater three or four times before she cleaned his feet. When it came time to shampoo and condition his hair, she made it her mission to be on the far side of the tub, away from where she might be asked to help. It didn't take long to figure out that this was the maid that sewed the crown to his head.

Ben felt sorry for her. She had not known better. The crown was heavy and slipped so easily, a few pins hardly keeping it in place. She was obviously once a seamstress, and fixed a problem using crude--but familiar means. And now she cowered in his presence, terrified that he might unearth her secret and have her punished. She saw him as an extension of Washington; a prettier, unfamiliar face that would see her flogged for touching a hair on his head.

The bath was drawing to a close, the water now tinged pink with the blood rinsed out of his hair. Towels were being warmed and readied, and a few servants left to make the bed or call for his supper, leaving him and the poor woman alone. She worked tirelessly, as if to mask her uncanny silence with busywork. Ben waited as she picked through a small bag, plucking out a thin emery board to file down his nails.

As she took his hand to work, he caught hers, holding her trembling hand steady. “I won't tell.” He said, studying her face. “I won't ever tell him.” The woman’s face twisted in a combination of grief and relief as she crumpled around the hand he held.

“ _Thank you_ , _god._ You are a _kind_ man, your majesty. I am so sorry--” she cried. There was more, though it came out in blubbering waves that Ben couldn't catch. He raised his other hand from the bath, pressing his thumb to the woman’s forehead.

“Love and protection be unto you and all servants in my care. King Washington cannot punish what he does not know. Under my watch you and your staff shall find peace.” He said. The woman let her head slump into his touch, and Ben opened his palm to cradle her face.

“May you reign forever, King Tallmadge.”

* * *

After the plates had been cleared, Ben was helped into bed, swathed in a soft nightshirt that felt warm against his bruised side. “Would his majesty like anything else? A book perhaps?” Ben turned down the offer. His husband would return soon, and he'd rather not be caught by surprise. The damage had mostly been washed out of his hair, with his stitches barely visible beneath the full locks that still sat upon his head.

As expected, Washington entered their chambers less than an hour after he was tucked into their marriage bed. Ben could smell the smoke from the kitchens on him, even as he stripped bare on his way to the bed. Ben averted his eyes, still uncomfortable with Washington's brazen nudity.

“I apologize for missing dinner, darling. Townsend had me in the kitchens tasting for a new feast to be held next month. Forty six courses, not including dessert. Does that sound good to you?” He asked, easing into bed. Ben stiffened, shuffling over to make room for his husband.

“Yes, my king. It sounds decadent.” Washington hummed, wrapping a hand around Ben’s waist to pull him close. The faint smell of lamb and mint lingered between them.

“And was your dinner to your liking, little one?” He asked, giving a playful squeeze. Ben clenched his jaw, not eager to give away the shooting pain from having his hidden bruises pinched.

“Yes, my king. It was splendid.” He breathed, hoping Washington couldn't feel the wince of pain. And for a moment it looked as though it sailed by him, just another pleasant thought as he planned his next move. Ben froze as Washington moved to stroke his cheek.

“That pleases me, Benjamin. Knowing my little husband is happy and well fe--” he stopped, his thumb brushing over the scrape across Ben’s left cheek. It had been hidden from view by the candles, but as Washington thumbed over it he tilted Ben’s face so that the light flickered over the red patch on the cheekbone.

“What's happened?” He asked, his voice low. Ben swallowed nervously, his hands fidgeting between him and Washington. When he did not respond, Washington asked again, a little louder.

“What. _Happened._ ”

Ben lowered his gaze, too afraid to look him in the eye. “I fainted today, my king.” He said. Washington stared at him, studying him closely. The arm around his waist pulled him closer.

“And why wasn't I informed that my husband was ill? I would have sent a doctor up right away.” Ben squirmed, an action that prompted Washington to force his chin up, to demand eye contact.

“I was ashamed, my king. I feared I would embarrass you.” He said softly. Washington released his chin, hands softer against his face.

“It looks far worse when I _don't_ send a doctor for my husband. People _talk,_ Benjamin. I take care of my things. I can't have people thinking I leave you up here to rot.” He said. Ben watched as Washington lingered a moment, his gaze traveling up to the stitches he thought hidden in his hair.

“You've been _hurt._ ”

Ben lowered his head, shoulders trembling. “My king, I am terribly ashamed of my fainting fit--”

“Remove this.”

Ben paused, noting Washington's hand tugging at his nightshirt. Without another word, he slipped it over his head, and tossed it aside on the bed. Washington peeled the covers back, his hands guiding Ben onto his right side. Carefully, he traced his way down Ben’s bruised left half, noting the color and size of each mark. He poked gently, gauging by Ben’s face how painful his injuries were. Once that was finished, Washington took Ben’s hands, turning them over in his palms to examine the knuckles and fingers.

“Forgive me for doubting you, Benjamin. Your injuries hold true to a bad fainting spell.” Washington sighed. “When you're as old as I am, you become more wary of the ways men will attack you. I suspected someone laid their hands on you to break our pact.”

Ben nodded, drawing his hands back to his chest. “I do not blame you, my king. This is the protection your marriage offers me.” Washington smiled, almost gently, and took Ben’s hand once more.

“Indeed it is. That scar will fade, little one. Even if it means I earn a few more that don't.” Ben was startled as his hand was guided down to the base of a long thin scar. It ran from the juncture of Washington's hip, up to just beneath his pectoral muscle.

“And I've seen many scars. This one, for instance, I earned in the second expansion of my kingdom. I warred on three different borders, was attacked by several assassins...but I earned this beauty from a foreign prince who thought it best to gut me.”

Ben looked longingly at the scar, wondering how satisfying it was for that man to run is sword up Washington’s gut. To watch his blue uniform turn black with blood, and for his hands to come away red at  where the muscle split.

“It was unsuccessful, but became a badge of what I sacrifice for this kingdom. And under my protection, you won't ever have to make that sacrifice. Nothing good comes to those who face me on the battlefield.”

Ben reclaimed his hand, but kept his eyes on the scar as Washington turned to tamp out the candles. “And the foreign prince who gutted you? What happened to him?”

Washington pulled Ben close, settling into the pillow.

“I married his son.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sunrises disgusted Ben. Every night he lay beside his husband dutifully, turned to face the large open window overlooking the kingdom. He counted the pinpricks of light flickering in the windows of far off homes. When those fizzled and died he traced the stars, following the constellations as the stretched towards the patch of sky he knew home was. His  _ real _ home. 

In his mind Ben would climb from the bed, walking silently onto the balcony with his eyes on the horizon. He’d step onto that ledge, bare feet scraping the stone as he prepared his greatest leap of faith. Hundreds of feet to fall, thousands more to climb, with stars so close he could almost  _ touch  _ them. And, by some miracle,he can. Ben would grab ahold of the nearest star, and hoist himself up off the balcony. Then he’d grab another, and another, until he was far above the castle that was once his prison. Up here the air was cold, and the stars were a thick blanket of glittering jewels, so close and real that Ben could hop from one to the other. Walk the hundreds of miles out of Washington’s kingdom. Kiss the peaks of those mountains as he passed into his homeland. Run at breakneck speed across the sky once his own tower was in sight.

But no matter how far he climbed, dawn would break. The stars he clung to would dissolve beneath his fingers, and the world became a blur of fiery orange and pink as the ground hurtled towards him, leaving him to close his eyes and accept the inevitable consequence of collision; the first groaning stirs of his husband, and the cock hard against his ass. 

“Good morning, dear Benjamin.” Washington growled, kissing the juncture of his neck. Ben gritted his teeth against the scrape of stubble he had endured for three weeks. 

“Good morning, my king.” Ben whispered, feigning a groggy voice. Washington hummed, pulling Ben close against him to kiss further down the curve of his shoulder. He was always more amorous in the morning than at night, perhaps thinking Ben couldn't deny him after what he assumed was a good night’s sleep. In reality, Ben hadn't seen a good night’s sleep in over a month. These sleepy morning kisses were just the telltale marker that another dawn had arrived, and another tally would be added to the sleepless nights in his mind. 

“Still shy, I see.” He purred, his hand gripping Ben’s hip tightly. “My darling little husband.” Ben let out a shuddering breath into the pillow, but allowed Washington to stroke his flank. Had Ben taken a lover, he'd almost consider the gesture tender. But this was not the case, and Ben counted to ten before disrupting the action. 

“I apologize, my king.” He murmured into the pillow. Washington’s hand moved from the crest of his hip, skimming to his stomach for a sympathetic pat.

“That's alright, dear boy. The wait just wakes it more fun.” He said. Ben could  _ hear _ the smirk on his lips, the little twist it added to his voice as he felt Washington kiss behind his ear. “One day you’ll be sprawled under me and  _ begging  _ for it.” Ben hid his face in the pillow as Washington let out an amused chuckle, rising from the bed.

“No rush, my little husband. No rush.”

* * *

There was not much use for Benjamin after the initial divvying of his kingdom. The corpses of his former court had been taken down from their nooses, with what little flesh still held them suspended by the knot. Ben had been there as the undertakers tossed them onto the cart, faces bloated and unrecognizable, bodies eaten away by maggots and flies, even the occasional bird. 

He was able to find Lord Woodhull, distinguishable only by the burgundy coat Ben last saw him in. Only now the garment was tattered, and soaked through with putrid rot. The smell was sharp, and brought tears to the eyes of the men cutting him down from the gallows. Ben stood a distance away, holding a fragranced handkerchief to his nose.

In the time that Lord Woodhull swung, Abraham and his family had been sent to the South Mountain Outpost. Two weeks into their new life, Abraham was caught in a landslide, his horse tipping from under him as the clay trail collapsed. They never found his body. Lady Mary, in her grief, poisoned herself, leaving only little Thomas left.  _ “Not to worry.” _ Washington had said to Ben, after reading the letter aloud in bed. “ _ I have arranged for little Thomas to join the boy’s military reserve” _ And just like that, there were three corpses on the cart, and one little soldier. Just the way Washington would have liked it. 

The head undertaker approached Ben, careful not to come too close, lest he offend him with the smell of rot. “King Benjamin, that's the last of them. We’ll be headed for the pits now.”he said gruffly, bowing stiffly. Ben nodded, pressing the handkerchief closer to his nose.

“Thank you, good sir.” He said, pressing a few gold coins into the man’s hand. “For letting me see them one last time.” The undertaker bowed again, slipping the coins into his pocket before returning to the cart. 

The thought of returning to the lonesome life he lived within Washington's castle was bleak. Though allowed to go on escorted outings, Ben rarely found the motivation to leave the castle grounds. People stared, something Ben detested. They made a big fuss over their new King, and followed the example of their tyrant. They lauded his beauty, expressed what a lucky find he was, spouted that Washington would be the finest husband. Ben hardly believed that they genuinely felt that. From what Ben could see, it looked as though the kingdom loved their warlord because war took him  _ away _ from them. And now there were two kings. One who would most definitely stay if Washington were to claim another land. One who they saw as their tyrant’s eyes and ears. Ben despised it.

That's why he chose to resign to the isolated comforts of the castle. With not much of a kingdom left to dissect in front of him, Washington allowed Ben to roam the castle and explore. There was a substantial library to replace the one he was forced to leave behind. Expansive gardens to walk through and terraces to look out on. 

Despite the summer heat, Ben made a habit of choosing a thick tome and finding a shady spot in the garden. There he spent most of the day thumbing through pages, breaking occasionally to accept some chilled sweet wine or fresh fruit presented to him. It came with little disturbance, until…

It was a great clatter, one that caused Ben to jolt upright and slam his book shut. The cause seemed to be a gardener, his wheelbarrow having tipped over, spilling tools and little seedlings waiting for their new plots. Ben felt a pang of pity seeing them strewn across the ground, roots gnarled and exposed. He left his book to rush to the gardner’s aid.

“May I?” Ben said, helping the man right his wheelbarrow. A good portion of seedlings were still safely tucked in the wheelbarrow, secured by a wooden lattice. Ben bent to quickly retrieve the others that had escaped his care. 

“Thank you, thank you!” The gardener replied, his eyes to the ground as he scooped up the seedlings on his side. It took a moment for him to look up and recognize his savior, giving Ben a few precious seconds of blissful silence. But, he did look up for a proper thank you, and reality set in.

“ _ King Benjamin!”  _ The gardener bowed low, cheeks red. “I...I apologize for disturbing you. And for causing you the inconvenience of cleaning up my mistakes.” Ben’s mouth pinched into a frown as he eyed the gardener.

“That's quite alright. I wouldn't be in the garden if I disliked getting dirty. You needed help. Tell me, what is your name?” He asked. The gardener straightened up, nervously wiping his soil coated palms on the front of his tunic. 

“Gardner Baker, your majesty.” He said, smiling brightly. Ben was a little caught off guard by his sweet disposition. He seemed to be the only servant here with a genuine smile. Ben returned the smile wholeheartedly.

“It's nice to meet you, Baker. Could you tell me what you're planting?” He asked, gesturing to the little seedlings in the cart. “I...have a book on gardening but they're all so alike when they're young.” He reached out to stroke one of the tiny leaves tenderly, relishing the smooth feeling. 

“Snapdragons, your majesty. With a little care, and sunlight, they’ll be a tall bed of blue and gold.” Baker beamed. Ben let out a little huff of amusement.

“It must be terribly dull to stick to that palette.” He mused. “I for one can't imagine a garden without rich reds and soft pinks.” Baker picked up the last of his tools, looking around the grounds.

“ _ Actually _ , it's quite fascinating. I can show his majesty, if he pleases.” The gesture was grand, in a warm, open way Ben hadn't seen since he was in his old kingdom. Baker had only his expertise to share, and he did so with gusto. Who was Ben to turn down such an offer?

“I'd love to.”

* * *

Baker wasn't exaggerating when he described Washington’s garden as an Eden. Amongst the foliage, blue and gold looked radiant. Perhaps it was the rich green leaves, the same shade as the gowns his mother would wear. Or the dizzying scent of the blooms that swayed with the breeze. 

They tread a small stone path that wound through the garden like a river, stopping to smell and examine the gorgeous flowers that came around each bend. A few were fairly obvious choices. Tall, heady sunflowers, craned towards the sun beating down on them. Their gold petals shimmered in the light, and bees passed to and fro between their large brown centers. Soft, delicate peonies, with lush blooms that swayed in the summer breeze. Baker went through each one, noting how lovely they looked, sharing secrets of how to make them hardier. 

The blues were fascinating, just as Baker promised. Deep, rich purplish blue morning glories climbed trellises propped up around the grounds, lined with paths of blue and gold snapdragons. The whole palette was occasionally broken up by a white blossom or two, something Baker confided that he had special permission to do. White, you see, was the color of the Good King Augustine, Washington's father. 

“He was a humble man.” Baker said, leaning the wheelbarrow up against a large stone wall. “And despite being crowned King, chose to keep white on his banners.” 

“A houseless color?” Ben asked, dubiously. It seemed unlikely that anyone who spawned  _ Washington _ would have a shred of humility. And none so much as to emblazon themselves with the color of the masses. Baker dusted soil from his hands.

“Yes. You see, our kingdom was in some turmoil not so long ago. One that left us without a proper sovereign. King Augustine was crowned when he was 20, from a new bloodline. Not a drop of royalty in him. Not like the Tallmadges, your highness. Your line stretches back centuries.” 

Ben sighed, taking one of the small white morning glories under his thumb. “That it did.” 

“Well, King Augustine wore the white of the people until his death. His successor, King Lawrence, chose the blue and gold to continue our kingdom.” 

Baker explained. There was a moment of silence, Ben lost in examining the soft white bloom, before Baker cleared his throat.

“There is another portion of the garden I think you'd enjoy.” He said, motioning to a small gate. Ben followed, passing through the small gap in the wall to a lush enclosed garden. The air here was thick and sweet, and familiar. 

“This is our aroma garden. All the oils your majesty uses in his baths comes from right here.” 

Ben followed his nose, stepping close to various blooms, attempting to put a soft petaled face to the wonderful aromas his baths were laced with. Some were quite easy, like the bluish purple stalks of lavender sprouting from a flower bed. Others took a moment longer, like the bright gold of ylang ylang, with its thin weeping petals. Climbing roses clung to wooden frames, their sweet fragrance reminding Ben of a hot soak he took only a few nights past. 

The last he smelled was a small white blossom, it's scent delicate. It reminded him of his wedding night, and of the tiny white flowers he picked from his hair before disrobing in front of Washington. His gut churned involuntarily. Baker smiled. “Jasmine. King Washington's favorite.” Ah, that would explain it. He stepped away from the flower, smoothing his hands over his jacket.

“How lovely it must be to be able to make your own oils.” He said, pushing down the queasy feeling in his stomach. “We did not have that luxury in my gardens.” Baker stepped to open the gate, letting Ben out of the little enclosure. He was glad to escape, the smell of jasmine now overpowering every bloom in the garden. The fresh air would do him good. 

“What were the gardens like in your home, King Benjamin?” Baker asked. His smile was large and hopeful, and despite the horrible memory of the gardens being burned as he was marched from the castle in monk’s garb, Ben felt safe indulging him.

“Oh, very lovely. My mother loved roses. We had them in every color imaginable. Pinks and oranges, deep reds and yellows. She even procured a black one once. I thought it was painted at first! But the petals were soft and real. That one only bloomed once I'm afraid.” Ben said. He remembered it well; the frost that had come late that season. It took away the warmth of the kingdom for a full week. By week's end, a third of his mother’s rose garden had succumbed to the frost. The black rose, they thought, had survived. It flowered and wilted, just as any other would that season. But Ben and his mother waited patiently for the bloom to return, pruning back the leaves to make way for new buds. The plant never flowered again, but black buds did return, this time blossoming and wilting his mother away. 

Ben moved past that thought, and onto sunnier ones. “We had a large wall of hydrangeas outside my bedroom. The caretakers said it look year to get them to explode in all different shades of blues and pinks. They said it was in the soil.” 

Ben looked at Baker, who in turn looked upon him with soft admiration. “I can tell his majesty has fond memories of this garden. You smile so sweetly when you speak of it.” Ben blanched. A smile,  _ really _ ? When was the last time that had happened. He hardly counts the scoff he let slip when he watched a bird take off with Washington’s last sausage link. 

“It's been awhile since I revisited those memories. For reasons more apparent than not…” he said, the rare smile slipping from him. He could feel the difference. The slight ache in his cheeks from where it sat. The now heavy, pitiful stare Baker gave him. He should excuse himself. Fix this before someone begins to see the cracks in the mask he can barely keep on.

“If you don't mind, your majesty, there is  _ one _ last place I wish to show you.” Baker said. Ben quirked his head, still mulling over if he should cut this little trip short and flee somewhere more private. But Baker had been unbelievably kind, and inviting, that a few extra minutes wouldn't make Ben any less upset than he already was. 

Baker led Ben around the walls of the castle, towards the east side of the grounds. Here, away from the extensive terrace of Washington's chambers, the garden thinned out. It became more shrubbery and strolling paths, dotted by small ponds and benches. Baker’s smile grew increasingly wider as they strolled down the path, picking up speed as they steered clear of one last pond to reveal...well...something Ben hadn’t quite expected.

It was a large rotunda, seven or eight feet high, made of thick, wonderful hydrangea bushes. The wall he fancied as a kid looked like child’s play next to it. It was rich and green, with the bluest heads he's ever seen. Of course, some purples and pinks managed to peek through, subtly ruining Washington's stranglehold of a palette. Baker motioned him closer, gesturing to a small gap at the rear of the rotunda. Inside it was cool, and shady, with only a sliver of sunlight coming down through the open top of the structure. But, more importantly, it wasn't empty. 

Sitting square in the middle was a small white gazebo. It looked forgotten, the paint on the wood flaking away. Some of the baseboards were warped, and there was sweet honeysuckle overtaking one side of it. 

“Washington doesn't visit this end of the property all that much, so this little gem fell into disrepair. If you wish, I can have it fixed up...quietly. Might make a nice place to read.” 

Ben touched one of the pillars of the gazebo, his breath uneven. “Yeah...that would be…” 

“Someplace that's yours.” Baker said. “You're a brave man, King Benjamin. But I feel even brave men need someplace to be soft.” Ben let out a long breath, and took a seat on a small wooden crate left behind.

“A place to be soft…”

* * *

The hidden gazebo was fixed up quickly, all under the watchful eye of Baker. The baseboards were replaced, the wood repainted and patched. The servants even brought a small table and chair to adorn the place. It became a safe little haven, far from where Washington could touch him. The place was nearly impossible to find, unless you knew where to look. 

From the west wing chambers it was obscured by the east side of the castle. From the east wing, a series of tall trees guarded it from the prying eyes of anyone in the window. Unless you followed the path, and walked behind the rotunda, past a pile of tools and loose bricks, you would never know it was there. And to Ben that was heaven.

Each morning he would pry himself from Washington's grasp, grinning painfully through breakfast until his husband was readied for court. He'd let Townsend know where to send lunch, and to send it discreetly; sandwiches and wine bottles often shuttled to Ben via covered wheelbarrow by Baker. The man was a delightful sight, often whistling to let Ben know that he approached their little hideaway, bearing gifts of fresh fruit and honey cakes. 

Not wanting to be a lonesome glutton, Ben often invited Baker to share his meals. Beneath the shade of the gazebo, Baker would spin stories of his childhood in the gardens, spoiling his appetite by sucking on honeysuckle nectar all afternoon. 

“What, these?” Ben asked, pointing to the little white flowers behind him. Baker nodded, taking a bite of his strawberry. “How?” He watched in awe as Baker plucked a blossom, instructing how to pinch the stem and pull free the nectar, licking up the tiny bead with gusto. 

“You’d have to eat a thousand to spoil your appetite!” Ben laughed, trying it for himself. It sweet, and fragrant, mixing well with the mead Townsend had sent over that afternoon. Baker smiled.

“Nearly plucked the garden clean. I got a tongue lashing for that one.” He laughed, pinching another flower free of its nectar. 

“Well,  _ share, _ please.” 

“Is hoarding honeysuckle a treasonous offense?”

“No, but it will earn you another trip to the kitchens.” Ben said, emptying the last of the mead into his glass. “Unless I should save my appetite for supper. I should receive more than a tongue lashing if I don't heartily enjoy what meal King Washington has chosen.”

Baker fell silent, pulling the petals off a used blossom. “Would it be unkind of me to say that I'm certain King Washington wouldn't punish you for a spoiled supper?” He asked, eyes cast towards the ground. Ben felt a pang of guilt, as well as a bubbling self loathing for letting the wine loosen his tongue. It came back up treacherously, burning his throat as he struggled to find some way to mend this.

“Not  _ unkind.  _ Maybe just...hard to believe.” 

Baker nodded. “King Washington is a complex man. I have seen him at war and at home. Neither of them seem genuine.” He said, almost a whisper. “But there is something genuine about his decision to marry. I'm certain this arrangement, no matter how strained, has some other purpose.” 

Ben’s mouth pinched into a frown. The  _ purpose _ was to expand his kingdom. Keep peace in order to loot Ben’s home and take him hostage as a prize. In the month he's known his husband, he has proven to be nothing more than a vain, controlling, monster. One who can't wait to rub up against him. Get  _ inside _ him. Rid every Tallmadge thing about him. But he bit his tongue, and slipped into the role of dutiful husband. 

“I am hesitant to believe it, but anything is possible.” He said, trying not to clip his words. Ben took this time to stand and stretch, looking at how the sun had started to slip behind the castle. “But in any case, I must ready for supper. Same time tomorrow?” He asked. Baker’s worry melted away, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Yes, your majesty. Let me slip out first, and give you time to leave.” He said, departing for the day. 

Ben waited for the coast to be clear before heading back down the path towards the western gate. He left behind the ponds and hedges, entering the blue and gold sea that lay shimmering under the watchful eye of Washington.  _ A dutiful husband _ , he scoffed at the thought. What dutiful husband spends his day hiding from his spouse, praying that the whistling beyond the hydrangeas is not someone who will drag him from his sanctuary. Good husbands stayed under the watchful eye of their keepers. Good husbands read in the garden, waving coyly to the figures that happened across the terrace of their bedchambers.

Good little husbands picked flowers.

Ben spotted a patch of yellow carnations poking from a stone pot, glaring at him with full blossoms. He snatched a few, smiling wryly as he tied them neatly with a piece of light blue ribbon from his hair. He fussed over the small bouquet, fluffing the petals until they lay like a soft golden pillow. These would do nicely. 

He put them in a small vase, setting them down on Washington’s side of the bed, before continuing with his day as usual. He nibbled through another tense dinner. He took a short soak in the tub, instructing the servants to go heavy on the jasmine. Once he was soft and dry, he slipped into bed, making sure the silk sheets lay low enough that Washington would glimpse the dip of his hipbone as he entered the room. 

Washington entered their chambers as usual, his eyes immediately drawn to the soft peek of skin Ben was presenting.

“Ready for bed, little one?” Washington asked, making quick work of his clothes as he approached the bed. Ben hummed, hugging his pillow shyly.

“My eyes are so weak from reading. I suspect I’ll be out quicker than the candle, my king.” Ben relished the pang of disappointment in Washington's eyes, robbing him of the promise of a lustful evening. Ben caught a glimpse of his cock, already half hard as he joined Ben beneath the sheets. 

“Pity. You look ravishing this evening. I had hoped to take the next step of our coupling…” he said, trailing off as he noticed the bouquet on his nightstand, eyes lighting up again with amusement. “And what are these?” 

Ben hid his face in the pillow, a feigned shy expression hiding the very  _ real _ smile of comeuppance on his face. “It's silly…” he said, looking up from the pillow, lashes lowered. Washington seemed to take interest, moving closer...close enough to smell the jasmine on him from the bath. Ben felt his husband's cock tap against his leg. 

“ _ Oh?”  _ Washington said, wrapping an arm around Ben to tug him close. Ben made sure to hitch his breath a little at their contact, causing the press of Washington's cock to dig harder against his thigh. “Don't be shy, my little husband.  _ Tell me.” _ He growled, being so bold as to kiss along the length of Ben’s neck. Ben bit down on his lip, resisting the urge to shove him away. 

“I was reading in the garden, and these looked so lovely, I just thought…” he let George kiss below his ear, just once. “I thought…” Ben almost laughed as he felt the press of a smile against his jaw.

“Did you pick those pretty things for me, little one?” Washington purred. Ben nodded, quickly pulling away to signify that this contact was over. He was too shy to accept anymore advances tonight. Washington cupped his cheek, one thumb stroking under his eye tenderly. “My sweet Benjamin, I’m so proud. Would you like me to wear one of these in my jacket tomorrow?”

Ben smiled, though for the wrong reasons.

“You would honor me, my king.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by:  
> The meaning of yellow carnations ♡
> 
> "Pale yellow or bold yellow, these carnations have a negative meaning. Whether it's rejection, distain or even contempt that you're feeling, yellow carnations are your go to flower for sending a message of disappointment to someone."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NONCON/ DUBCON DREAM BEGINNING.
> 
> If this is particularly triggering you can skip to the first cut line and not miss too much of the story.

The nightmare always started the same: a heavy feeling of sickness, and the smell of sweat. His limbs so weak it was as though he were pinned to the bed like a butterfly; each wing pierced and arranged delicately to show off his finest features. 

And these were the fine features his husband so desired.

Nude and helpless, covered in seed and sweat, Washington thrust into him. Ben felt his skin sear with each open palmed slap to his flank, tears stinging his eyes. His legs limp and useless, held up by Washington as he picked up his pace. Ben took in a sharp breath, all at once feeling the heavy circle around his head, rubbing painfully against his brow. It was a weight he knew in his very soul; his father’s crown. 

Washington spoke during these visions, though it always met Ben’s ears as a low rumble. His tone suggested lewdness, and it made something new coil in his gut with each breath. The shifting darkness surrounding the bed suggested they were not alone. Something leered at them from the shadows, watching as Ben was taken roughly on the bed. It circled them with rapt fascination, the wispy hems of its shroud brushing into their circle of light. It was waiting. Watching. And Ben knew why. 

It wanted to see the worst part. The part that made Ben heave and gag upon waking. It wanted to see Ben  _ lust  _ for his husband. Scream and moan under his every touch. Spread his legs and feel Washington deep inside him, fucking him until his mouth fell slack in soundless cries. It took pleasure in watching the flush creep down Ben’s neck and chest, and mount with the heat coiling in his gut, until Ben saw white and his stomach was coated in new release. It watched as Washington took a Tallmadge and reduced him to a wanton little whore, and it smiled as Ben begged for it. 

And then the bed would melt away, Ben let go to fall out of Washington's arms and into the darkness, where he would hit consciousness hard and open his eyes to see clear blue sky. 

“Your majesty?”

Ben groaned, lifting himself from the little pile of blankets that was laid out in his secret gazebo. Baker hovered over him, worrying his hands. “King Benjamin, you had a nightmare.” He said. A glass of water was handed off to Ben, and he took a few long sips, washing the dryness from his mouth. 

“That I did.” Ben sighed. It was the trade off for finally being able to sleep. After week of barely dozing in bed alongside his husband, Ben has resolved to spending a few hours sleeping deeply on the gardens. In the shade of his gazebo, surrounded by heady blooms of hydrangea, it was as close to comfortable as Ben was willing to get. Still, that did not deter the foul dreams Washington granted him, tainting even these small moments of peace.

“May I ask what you see?” Baker said. Ben inhaled sharply, the smell of damp earth chasing away a phantom scent of sweat. 

“I can't recall.” 

Ben rubbed the sleep from his eyes, diverting his attention to the little basket Baker removed from under the tarp of his wheelbarrow. With a little rearranging, Ben had cleared a spot in the blanket for it to be set down, and the two rummaged through its contents. A few good crusts of bread, some cheese, fresh strawberries, a pastry, and wine. Ben pinched his lips into a slight frown, one which Baker caught onto right away.

“Is it not to your liking, Your Majesty?”

Ben looked up from the basket, relaxing his tight lipped pout. “The meal is fine, I just wish they’d send a little more so I could share with you. You hardly take anything I offer.” Baker blushed, and took a seat alongside Ben.

“You needn't share with me, Your Highness. I get a fine meal from cook’s kitchen with each day of work. Besides, I can't appreciate lavish foods the way you can.” He said shyly. Ben huffed, slicing off a wedge of cheese onto some bread, and handing it to Baker.

“All you need to appreciate food is a tongue, and I know you have one.” He said. Baker hesitated, staring down at the little offering. “Go on. I won't starve. This meal halved is still double what I was fed leading up to my wedding.” Baker nodded, taking a bite, his lips curling into a smile as he chewed.

“Good, right?”

Baker nodded, hands in front of his mouth as he chewed. Ben laughed. “I’ll pour the wine to wash that down.” 

* * *

Ben liked his hours with Baker. The man was humble and kindhearted, with a warm optimistic outlook that made Ben feel like a child again. He found beauty in the clouds, in the soil, in the rain that sometimes cut their day short. While Ben would rush to spare the books, Baker would sweep the sheets beneath the tarp of his wheelbarrow with ease, before turning his face to the sky to feel the rain upon his skin.

“Summer rain is a miracle for gardens.” He would say, not caring that his hair would become soaked and frizzed in the downpour. “You’ll be seeing fresh blooms tomorrow morning.” And sure enough Ben would, as his morning bath was drawn and petals were strewn across the surface of the water. 

Everything smelled better after the rain. The earth, the castle, even the jasmine that grew in the fragrance garden. On the sunny evenings following a long rain, when Ben would stay in his secret world the longest, he would always remember to snip a few of the jasmine blossoms, and leave them beneath Washington's pillow as a token. It's gentle aroma distracted his husband, and allowed Ben to get away with merely blushing and explaining why he chose to surprise him with these little petals. 

Tonight would be one of those nights, which meant that Ben could indulge himself a few more hours here. With a full stomach, and head tipsy from wine, Ben felt as though he could slip back into slumber once more. Though the thought of it made him uneasy. As sweet as sleep could be, the thought of being alone, helpless to his night terrors, was unbearable. That even here in his sanctuary, Washington managed to taint it. Ben stifled a yawn, fighting off the urge to drift back to that dark, loathsome place.

“King Benjamin, you look exhausted. Why don't you lay down and rest. I can come back to wake you in a few hours--”

“No.” Ben said. “I'm quite alright.” He wasn't, but there wasn't much Baker could do. He could not take away his terrors and replace them with sweet dreams. He could not erase the fact that when the sun sets he would return to his marriage bed, and be clutched tightly by a beast who murdered his brother. He could only smile, in that gentle way Ben admired.  “I just have trouble sleeping is all.” 

There was a moment of silence between them, Baker searching his mind for the right words. When he spoke again it was hushed, as if comforting a crying child. 

“When I was a boy, and my mother was still alive, I used to have awful terrors. Beasts and fiends stalking beneath my window, ready to slice my belly open and eat me alive. They got so terrifying that I hardly slept at all. It was only when my mother caught me pricking my fingers with pins that I got help.” 

Ben pulled the blanket over his shoulders, leaning in as if being told a great secret. 

“It begins with knowing you are not alone. Someone, anyone, will be there to watch for fiends.” Baker said, eyes dewy with tears. “My mother, god rest her soul, used to keep watch for me. Stayed up every night until my terrors passed, despite losing sleep of her own before the work day. “

Baker paused again, unsure of if to continue. But, figuring he had led Ben on this long, finished shakily. “If his majesty desires, I can stay and keep watch. There's some pruning to be done here in the rotunda, I can keep an ear out for those night terrors. Or, or not...because his majesty prefers his privacy--”

“I'd like that.” Ben said. Baker let a bashful smile slip, and moved to rise. Ben reached out and caught him by the wrist. “I’d…” he couldn't believe he was saying this. “I’d like it if you stayed right here with me.” A twinge of panic fluttered in Ben’s chest as it left his lips, but Baker did not hesitate to sit back down on the blanket with him. Perhaps it was wrong of Ben to ask for him to stay, after all he could not refuse a request from his king. But he did offer to remain close to Ben and keep watch, and that was enough.

Baker lay down beside him and made sure the small pillow beneath Ben’s head was adjusted. Ben blushed, feeling a bit guilty as Baker pulled the covers over them, tucking Ben into his soft secret cocoon. But then, just as Ben was about to close his eyes, a hand slipped into his. It's touch was warm and gentle, just like his mother’s had been. Baker squeezed sympathetically, and Ben could feel tears in his eyes.

“It's ok to be afraid, King Benjamin, but you must sleep.” He whispered. Ben nodded, blinking back his sorrow as he brought his other hand to cup Baker’s. He would sleep, just as soon as this loving, forgiving heat made its way down his arms and into his heart. When he felt himself thaw and crack, and become a version of himself he hadn't been since his summers as a child; barefoot and free, with the wind in his hair and the rain on his skin. 

He must have made a sound, because Baker’s hand shifted, stopping once at his elbow with a pause--and once Ben leaned into it’s touch, it moved again to circle around his waist and rest on his lower back. Ben rolled forward and let his cheek rest on Baker’s chest. He smelled delightfully of cut grass. Ben liked to sleep in the grass as a child. 

“Sleep, your majesty.”

And Ben did. Longer and deeper than he had in weeks. 

* * *

Ben spent his summer beneath the shelter of the gazebo, watching the clouds roll by as Baker tittered on about his prize roses, or replanting the snapdragon garden. It was peaceful, something he had been missing. For a few sweet hours Ben could breathe deeply, his head against Baker’s chest as he dozed off. He only awoke to the sound of crickets, when the sky turned a hazy purple, and the heat of the day began to dwindle. With a few words, Baker would send him off, back to the castle. There would be dinner, another sleepless night, a hot bath in the morning before breakfast with Washington, and then he’d be sent on his way; like a child sent out to play. Like clockwork Ben would faithfully return to his sanctuary, eyes heavy, and sleep. 

But summer could not last forever. The first chill of autumn began to creep in, and Ben was chased out of the garden by the waning daylight sooner and sooner each day. Baker tried his hardest to prolong their stays, bringing thicker blankets, and hotter lunches from the kitchens, but Ben feared that soon the weather would turn for the worst.

That morning there had been a frost, once that left the grass beneath Ben’s feet stiff as he tread to his hiding spot. Beneath their blanket, Baker explained that he frost was just the first signs that autumn was here, and that he must winterize the gardens to ensure they would bloom next year. Ben begged all of heaven that it was just a trick of nature, and that the ground would warm once more beneath the sun. That he and Baker could sleep for just a few more weeks. Just a few more…

But that evening would be the last of the summer. 

Ben awoke from his slumber to find Baker pale and cold, lying still beneath the blanket. Ben could feel the chill in his fingers and he slipped his own between them.

“Baker, are you alright? You're cold as ice.” He whispered, his own voice hoarse from cold. Baker had been looking out at the trees, their leaves thinning so that the sun filtered through as it moved behind the castle. Ben could see it glint off the windows of the castle, feigning a shimmer of heat. 

“Quite alright. Though I'm afraid this will be our last meeting here.” He had to say no more on that, Ben already knew. The frost was bad, and the thick clusters of hydrangea has shriveled and grown brittle. They fell away in the breeze, which was becoming more like a blustery autumn wind with every passing minute. Their shelter would soon be bare, and even now the right shift in the wind could provide a brief window into their secret world. Ben swallowed thickly.

“I cannot thank you enough, Baker, though I fear this will be the last of my slumber.” His voice was thin, the terror seeping back into his very bones. Baker motioned for Ben to pause--hold his tongue-- as he rummaged in a small satchel. What came out of it was a tiny doll; a man made of roughspun cloth, stuffed until lumpy, with two little button eyes and a tiny stitched smile. It looked as though made by a child, but the bandages on Baker’s fingertips suggested otherwise.

“There was a second part of my mother’s plan.” He said, pressing the doll into Ben’s hands. “For when I had slept enough to fight the monsters on my own. A little companion, with a happy smile, to keep close.” He smiled at Ben sweetly. “You can fight the monsters, your majesty.” 

Ben turned the doll over, its tiny body so similar to his little rabbit. “Thank you.” He whispered. He hugged it close, smelling the dried lavender stuffed within its lumpy torso. “For all of this” 

Their parting was bittersweet, but Ben promised to visit Baker in the gardens. He would dress warmly, he swore, and read beneath whatever trellis Baker attended to. But for now the sun was passed behind the castle, and it was time for Ben to retire.

“I shall see you tomorrow, Baker.” Ben said, tucking the doll into his pocket. Baker smiled, and bowed deeply. 

“Sweet dreams, King Benjamin.” 

The doll rested easy on his pillow, waiting patiently for Ben to return from his supper. It was a charmingly ugly little thing, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the lavishly embroidered bed curtains and pillows. Ben rather liked it that way. Something childish and simple, crafted with more good intention than skill. He slipped into bed, running his fingers over the little red stitched smile, trying his hardest to transfer its likeness to his own lips. 

“What have you here, Benjamin?”

Ben flinched inwardly, but kept his eyes locked to the doll. “I've spent the day making a doll, my king.” He lied. Washington raised a brow curiously, disrobing and sliding close to Ben’s side.

“A doll?”

Ben hummed. “Yes, from some scraps in the castle. I thought I'd try my hand at it.” Washington looked over the doll with interested, poking at its deformed head. Ben could see gaps in the stiches, where bits of rag and lavender blossom peeked out. 

“It's quite ugly, dearest.”

“I've never sewn one before.”

Washington plucked the doll from Ben’s hands, examining his handiwork. Ben clenched his jaw. “If you'd like a doll, little one, all you need is ask. There are some fine toy makers in town who would love to bring all your visions to life. They can even use--what is this, in here?” He said, sniffing the doll.

“Lavender, my king. It helps me sleep.” 

Washington grunted. “They can use that if you so desire. A little strong for a toy, however.” He murmured. The doll was dropped back into Ben’s hands, and he pressed it beneath his nose to rest the scent. Not too strong. Washington wrapped an arm around his middle. 

“Are you not sleeping well, darling boy?” He asked. Ben’s guy twisted at his slip up. Washington's hand ghosted over his lower back, stopping to cup Ben’s ass. “I know a few ways to clear the mind and relax the body.” He rumbled. Ben was thankful that his fair complexion showed the various shades of red he turned from that proposition.

“My king, I- I am….” he stammered, ashamed of the way his skin prickled at the light touch on his backside. “That is to say, I’m…”

“Shy. It's becoming of you.” Washington purred. “But you needn't feel shy with me, little one.” His hand moved back up, following the curve of Ben’s ass until it just barely settled on the dip of his waist. “I can be patient and gentle.” 

Ben lowered his gaze, heat washing over him as he remembered his nightmares. They way he bucked under Washington. The stinging sensation beneath his skin now as that hand coyly teased him, coaxing him to spread his legs and surrender the last bit of himself to Washington. Preying on his hunger for human touch. But just as quickly as his hand appeared, it departed, leaving a stone in the pit of Ben’s stomach.

“Or I could arrange for you to be massaged. There are some boys here who are very skilled. Whatever ails you will melt away.” 

Ben nodded, pulling the sheets right around him. He felt more naked tonight. Uneasy. “I shall give it thought, my king. Thank you.” Washington tamped out the candles, and pulled Ben close, but not before plucking the little cloth doll from his arms. He tossed it to the night table, just out of reach.

“Lavender before bed is too strong, dearest”

* * *

Of all the things Ben expected to rise to the next morning, a letter wasn't it. He hadn't received a piece of mail since his arrival to the castle, and Washington often relayed messages through the staff. So a small crumpled letter, handed to him in bed by Townsend, was unexpected.

“What is this?” Ben said, looking over the letter, his eyes too heavy to read the small script. Townsend cleared his throat. 

“The groundskeeper Baker has resigned his post.” He said calmly. “He has accepted a job in one of the southern outposts due to his specialty.” Ben shook his head, his heart splintering. 

“It can't be! He promised to meet me today. Why would he leave without a proper goodbye?” Ben’s voice betrayed him, coming across frantic and needy. Townsend dipped his head, eyes glancing over at the doll on the table.

“Perhaps he did, your majesty. Goodbyes are terrible things, and you've said so many in your life already. I'm certain Baker did not wish to cause you any heartbreak as your paths parted.” He said, though Ben did not believe it. It felt cautious and scripted, as if this news was just as sudden to Townsend as it was to him. Whatever reason he offered was as good as dust. 

Ben folded he letter thrice, handing it back to Townsend bitterly. “Thank you, Townsend.” He said. The letter was tucked away, and Townsend called for a bath to be drawn as Ben stewed in his own misery. Baker had left him. And why wouldn't he? He was jolly and good. Patient and true. And too kind a man to plainly tell Ben how much of an insufferable pain he had been. Demanding a companion to sleep beside. Moaning about his husband and shooting down every good thought with a venomous memory. Washington had   _ ruined  _ him, and poisoned his soul. He stung those who tried to help. He leeched off of the compassionate folks who stuck around. 

And what was Ben left with? A doll. Like the goddamn child he was. A doll could endure his ceaselessly moaning. It could listen and stare with a stitched on smile. It could lull him to sleep with it's little corpse like body, stuffed with lavender. But it didn't smell of cut grass and fresh soil. It couldn't laugh and exchange warm touches. It couldn't make his husband more bearable. It just...couldn't.

Washington was extremely chipper that morning, wolfing down seconds and thirds at breakfast while Ben meagerly poked at his eggs. He flashed a little grin from across the table, one meant to be somewhat charming, and Ben struggled for a full five seconds before feeling his own lips twitch upwards in the barest hint of a smile. Neither of them were Baker’s smile. 

The week grew steadily worse, with sleep evading Ben every night. He could no longer climb the stars and walk over the mountains, his limbs too weak to move even in bed. His meals began to dwindle, much to the surprise of his husband, who insisted Ben must eat at least some meat. It made him ill, it tasted of ash, but he smiled as he did so. “You know what's best, my king” 

The gardens had taken a heavy toll themselves. First by a rot that plagued the snapdragon beds. Their stems turned black and mushy, the leaves withering into sickly yellow. Strange and awful bugs began to appear in the soil, and on the remaining blossoms as the rot spread. Ben watched from his window as the remaining gardeners did what they saw fit, and set fire to the snapdragons, preventing the rot from claiming the gardens. 

But they could not burn off the frost that clutched them not two weeks after. Ben watched with tired eyes as a thin sheet of ice clung to the once lush grounds. It froze roses and lilies, felled sunflowers as their heads became heavy with ice. By midday when the heat of the sun returned, the ice broke away, taking most of the flowers with it. In the face of this disaster the staff worked tirelessly to repot the fragrance blooms and bring them inside, lest Washington be without his precious jasmine and ylang ylang. 

And then there was the gazebo. It stood now in stark view of the castle, the hydrangeas now just a wiry circle of twigs. Ben watched the wind blow through it, leaves collecting in the patchy grass he once called his sanctuary. Summer was long gone, but Ben felt as though it had been one long day between then and now. An endless day with many suns and moons that danced before him as he lay in bed with wide eyes. 

He yearned for sleep.

And sleep only came to him in that gazebo.

Ben stood facing the open window, it's glass paned doors opened to let the fresh air in. He was entranced by it. The cold air on his skin and the flutter of the curtains. The slick, mossy ledge that overlooked the top of his precious gazebo. It was right there beneath him. It was warm. Ben could  _ feel _ it. Only fifty or so feet below and it radiated like a bonfire. It enveloped him in that heavy familiar call of sleep that escaped him for  _ so long _ . It was only...fifty feet away.

Ben stepped forward, and forward again, his toes hanging off of the rainslick ledge.

“King Benjamin!” Someone hissed, seizing his shoulders. Ben was whirled around, coming face to face with a man in soft sheer robes, and a kiss swollen frown. 

“Lafayette?”

Lafayette guided Ben off the ledge, and deeper into the castle. “What were you thinking?” He said, his face wrought with worry. Ben blinked, unsure of what he meant.

“It’s warm, I wanted to sleep.” He mumbled. Lafayette didn't seem to understand. “I sleep in the gazebo, it's warmer there, I...I can't sleep unless I get to the…” he felt breathless. Why couldn't Lafayette understand? It was simple, no? He just needed a few blankets. A pillow. A friend. And he could be good as new. Himself. Whole. Rested. 

Lafayette swore under his breath, dragging Ben off his feet and towards his bed chambers. “Forgive me, your highness, but you are not well. You must lay down.” Ben struggled against his grasp, too weak to pull free. He tried to shout, but no sound louder than a whisper left his lips. 

“Not there. Not him.” Ben begged, tugging against his captor. “Not, not….not….” 

Off in the distance he heard Townsend rush to meet them, but their conversation was hushed and angry. Lafayette's grip only tightened, and soon Ben found himself sitting on the edge of his bed as the chamberboy removed his clothes. Chancing a glance in the mirror, Ben could see what they saw. A pale, ghastly version of himself, with deep dark circles and red rimmed eyes. A ghost. 

Two warm hands cupped Ben’s face, and a pair of soulful eyes searched his for recognition. “King Benjamin, you are in dire need of sleep. I shall call for your husband--”

“No!” Ben blurted, his hands jumping to clasp tightly around Lafayette's wrists. “No.” Lafayette frowned, but did not remove his hands. 

“You cannot be alone. Not like this.” He whispered. “I cannot trust that your body won't betray you.”   


Ben nodded weakly, leaning into Lafayette's touch. “Then please god,  _ stay with me _ . Just don't  _ tell him.” _ he begged. “He can't know-- he can't know--”

Lafayette shushed him, but slipped into bed. “He won't ever know. I swear it.” 


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Ben’s eyes started to creak open, the sun was beginning to near the horizon. It was visible, just barely, through a crack in the curtains. The room was dark, save a few candles lit. His body felt heavy, and it took a few minutes to lift his lids fully. Slowly the rest of the room filtered in, and Ben could take in the scene; his clothes on the floor, a jug of cold water placed by the bedside, a warm body pressed close against him. A tight coil of fear twisted in his gut. He couldn't remember how he got here, only that it wasn't on his own.

The body in question wasn't his husband’s. It was small and lithe, and moved with him as he clumsily flipped over.

“Good evening, my King. Are you quite well?”

It was Lafayette, still clad in his sheer robe, though it did little to hide his figure. Ben blushed deeply, pulling the covers to his chin. It was Lafayette who had pulled him here, and so graciously stayed beside him.

“I slept. That's what's most important.” Ben said. Lafayette let out a scoff, propping himself up on his elbow. Ben couldn't help but follow the motion of the robe that slipped from his shoulders with his eyes. It was easier to look at the smooth expanse of skin than into Lafayette’s eyes; so soft and soulful. “Was my husband told of my...my…”

“Incident?” Lafayette offered. He took in a deep breath. “No. And I'd prefer not to. George is a lot of things, but levelheaded he is not. He'd most wish to see you.” Lafayette said. Ben was taken aback. _George._ No one called his husband by his first name, not even himself. It's one and only utterance was at their wedding, where it tasted just as vile as the surname he was shackled to.

“Are you quite close to him? Washington?” Ben asked, not unaware of how silly he sounded. Lafayette nodded.

“I am his most trusted chamberboy. My pleasure derives from whatever his heart desires.” Ben grimaced, something that did not escape Lafayette's notice. “Had it not occurred to you that he is a man with appetites, King Benjamin?” Ben squirmed, feeling a tad guilty. Of course Lafayette would know Washington's appetites. Every morning Ben denied him their marital duty, Lafayette bore the brunt of it.

“I apologize, sir, if my husband has hurt you due to my negligence--”

“Not hurt, my king, no. You misunderstand.” Lafayette said, his voice smooth and sweet. “Sex is not the only thing George and I share. Secrets pass between us too.” He reached out to card a hand through Ben’s hair, and Ben found himself leaning into the warm touch of his palm. “Secrets I could share with you.”

Ben pulled away with a huff. “Then you would be a bad secret keeper. Whatever you and my husband share, you may keep it to yourself.” Lafayette didn't flinch, but withdrew his hand. Ben was surprised to feel regret at the motion; he desperately needed that touch.

“Then they are mine to keep. For now.” Lafayette’s slender finger traced circles on the pillow, lips pursed as though he was searching for a way to continue. Perhaps one that wouldn't frighten Ben out of the bed-- though he knew no place else he could run. His garden sanctuary was no more, and the library would only provide some comfort.

“I did not always live here, King Benjamin.” Lafayette said. “Once upon a time I lived in a small brothel on the edge of two kingdoms. It was not as glamorous as your palace, but it was home.” His eyes were wistful, and Ben curled a little closer to Lafayette on the bed. “And like most homes, they get sucked into war. In this case, my home lay in the stretch of land that was seized in the expansion of this kingdom.”

“That's _awful.”_ Ben breathed. He was unable to imagine a man as a beautiful and soft as Lafayette being in a war zone. The blackened fields Ben had rode through. The razed towns. Lafayette would have been knee deep in ash and mud when he was plucked from his home and taken here. Washed and cleaned and made ready for his savage husband. But Lafayette did not look mournful. In fact, a small smile tugged at his lips as he looked back on it.

“No, it was _prosperous._ ”

Lafayette reached out to caress Ben’s cheek, and this time Ben did not pull away. “Not all of us are as virtuous as you, my king. I, for one, lived for life's more carnal pleasures. And nothing does a brothel more good than a war. Men come striding in at first, purses full. They throw down some coin and take a pretty one to bed. But war changes men. Those who would boast and brag would come shuffling in, still wearing the blood of their closest friend. They would toss in their whole purse for a good night's sleep. You see, no one disturbed a brothel. It was the last comfort of man. I saw officers on one side, then both sides, and then one side again. All of them passed our palace of comfort peacefully. Including George.”

Ben hugged his pillow as Lafayette continued.

“George was a--how do I put this politely-- _affectionate_ suitor. In the way only George knew how to be affectionate.” There was a smile on Lafayette's lips, something akin to fondness. It made something deep within Ben twist. “I was told I was to lay with the General of a great nation, and I was not disappointed. He was tall,ambitious, and desperately eager to prove to me that he was worth more than my other suitors--not that he was any good at first; no, none of them are. They just mount and roll off. But with time, and a little hands on learning…”

Ben cleared his throat, not particularly interested in the old conquests of his husband. Lafayette righted himself, and moved on. “The war didn’t last much longer. George is skilled in the field, and my home was now his in a matter of months. But in those months he had become accustomed to a certain way of life.”

“So he brought you here to continue his war front libido.” Ben scoffed. How very predictable of his brutish husband.

“No,” Lafayette said “I came here because he needed comfort, on the most basic human level. Someone to touch. Necessary skin to skin contact that keeps us loved and alive.” The twisting returned to Ben’s stomach. He couldn't deny he was in a similar position. Not five minutes ago he was leaning so far into Lafayette's touch that if her were offered to be absorbed into the man’s body, he would do so without a moment’s hesitation.

“I see great pain in you, King Benjamin. As I did George when we first met. No human can survive long without a shoulder to cry on, not even the most hardened of us.” Lafayette slipped from underneath the bedclothes, his warm retreating. It almost brought tears to Ben’s eyes. “And I suspect since the little gardener Baker has left, you have been in need of a good night’s sleep.”

Ben’s heart faltered, ice in his veins as he jolted upright in bed. How did he know? How _much_ did he know? Lafayette raised a hand to calm him. “For all you accuse me of being a bad secret keeper, I keep quite a lot. Even when I am not asked to. But I must admit, my being here is not by chance.”

“Did my husband send for you? Like he did before our wedding night?” Ben asked, his voice a shaky mess. Lafayette tightened his robe.

“No, Baker did. And I feel just awful that I had not understood him clearly. He had asked me to lay with you; to keep you company. Those things mean something a little less innocent where I am from. But it seems you two were that beautiful kind of innocent. And until you feel at home enough to lay in your husband’s arms--innocent or otherwise-- I will ensure you have a good night's rest.” He headed for the door, and Ben sat up straight, the sheets wrapped around his body.

“And how will I know you won't tell him? About our arrangement?” Lafayette pulled the door open a sliver.

“Because I am the only man in this castle who has seen your husband beg. Rest easy, King Benjamin.”

* * *

The fireplace in the grand dining hall crackled loudly, backlighting Washington with a flickering orange glow as they silently attended to their meal. Washington was on his third helping, his side of a long roasted pig being picked clean. Ben’s plate was neater, with his pork and vegetables arranged in small piles. He was relieved to feel hungry today, and maybe it had been the rest, but his first plate was cleared rather quickly. Washington waved over a servant, and the empty plate was swapped for a full one. It was all rather surprising. Even when Ben’s appetite was full, he was never offered more than one helping--a crude reminder that Washington decided everything about his life, down to the peas on his plate. But tonight his husband watched eagerly as the new plate was set before him.

“You must eat, Benjamin.” Washington said. It was firm, but with a touch of some soft concern. “You've begun to look sickly.” Ben picked up his fork, his stomach rumbling quietly. _Begun_ was an understatement. He looked like a corpse come alive, gangly and shuffling as though he missed the grave. How long Washington had noticed his undead state was uncertain, but this would not be an order too hard to swallow. Ben bowed his head as he speared a little piece of pork on the edge of his fork.

“I apologize, my king. My appetite seems to have lost me these past few weeks.” He took a bite of his food, waiting until it was swallowed down under the watchful eye of his husband. “But it has begun to return.” Washington’s shoulders relaxed, and he returned to his own plate.

“It is distressing to see your health slip from you, Benjamin. I had begun to think your family sickly. And as you know, your health is much needed for the legacy of this kingdom.” There was the harsh clink of silver on porcelain as Washington cut through his meat. “You’ve lost siblings to sickness, have you not?”

Ben swallowed some potatoes, the familiar faces of his brothers flashed through his mind. “Yes, my king. Three of them. One of pox, and two of pneumonia.” Their funerals had been brief, the sight of tiny corpses too distressing for his parents to endure. Washington nodded, his eyes downcast towards his plate.

“My own brother fell ill when I was a young man.” He said, almost a whisper. “My father too, it seems, of the same poisonous fate.”

For a moment, Ben saw something strange. It flickered behind Washington’s steely blue eyes,only a quick second, but enough to lay a crack in that smooth stone facade of his. It was grief, deeply buried and festering. No sooner did it leak, it passed, and Washington’s composure returned again.

“That being said, I keep a close eye on illness.”

Washington’s plate was cleared away, and Ben let his own be taken with the rest of the dishes. From his chair he could smell tea and chocolate, and dabbed delicately at his lips with his napkin. He would, of course, turn down these sweets and excuse himself. Washington had other ideas.

“Do stay, darling. I am too pleased to see your appetite return to let you run off without dessert.” He said, waving the servants in. Ben spied what looked like a chocolate torte on the plates, embellished with cut strawberries and cream. The smell made his mouth water, and for the first time in weeks he felt eager to indulge in what Washington was offering him. Ben moved his elbow as a small tea pot was set down beside him as well.

“You take a whole pot, do you not?” Washington asked. Ben smiled, biting back a comment about it laying heavy on his stomach, as a good bowl of porridge might.

“That I do, my king.” He said. A cup was poured and prepared to his liking, as was one from a separate pot for Washington. Across the table Ben could smell it: jasmine. The man had a theme. Ben hummed to himself. Thankfully his own cup was filled with strong black tea, turned a pleasant beige with cream.

Ben took a sip, delighting in the taste. Though he had drank a pot of tea a day for weeks, it felt as though he was experiencing it for the first time. Perhaps his well rest allowed him to taste again. Or maybe his grief for Baker had begun to ebb. Ben took a bite of his torte, chewing thoughtfully as he studied Washington; eyes still cast down into his dish, shoulders slightly hunched. A soft smile touched Ben’s lips. Perhaps one day too he’ll see him beg.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! More Spoils of War verse, and other benwash prompts can be found on my tumblr @grumblebee-trilogy. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Comment and show some love if you enjoyed it :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Cruelty of Morpheus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9559715) by [historical_ramblings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/historical_ramblings/pseuds/historical_ramblings)




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